You Can Hear It in the Silence
by bravebuttercups
Summary: People have come and gone throughout Emma's entire life, from the parents who abandoned her on the side of the road to the high school sweetheart who walked out on her for not wanting to commit a crime. There's only one person who's stayed because he wants to - not because he has to - and she wouldn't trade Killian for anything. Modern best friends AU.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So I'm complete trash for this pairing and I couldn't pass up the chance to write the whole "we're best friends who suddenly find ourselves as something more" trope._

"Get out!"

It's the culmination of years of arguing that has led to this, of him screwing up and her forgiving him, and she's done. He packs his bags and leaves, glaring at her over his shoulder as he goes. She shuts the door behind him and takes a shuddering breath, closing her eyes briefly as she tries her best not to cry. She finds her way to the couch and sits down hard as the reality of what has just happened hits her, and she's calling the only person she can bear to be around at the moment before she knows it.

"Killian? Can you come over?"

It must be the slight tremble in her voice that gives him superhuman speed, because he lives on the floor above her and she knows the rickety elevators in their apartment complex aren't that fast. Emma listens to the sound of her spare key in the lock and then he's on the couch next to her, his hands on her shoulders as he forces her to look at him.

"Swan, what is it? What's happened?" There's obvious panic in Killian's voice as his eyes roam over her face, thumbing at the stray tears that have found their way to her cheeks. Emma's never been an affectionate person, but there's something to be said about the comfort familiarity brings, and there's no one she's more familiar with than Killian.

"Neal's gone. For good," she tells him, the sob that follows sounding more like a strangled laugh than anything.

Killian knew it hadn't been smooth seas between Emma and Neal for a while now. He had seen it as he briefly passed her in the lobby, his hand ruffling her hair and her giving him the slightest of smiles in return. He had known it when she showed up to his apartment at four in the morning with a six pack of beer, a hard set to her jaw and the sound of tires on pavement coming from below. Still, he always figured they'd work things out. So had she.

They were both wrong.

"I'm sorry Swan. Truly," Killian says, squeezing one of her hands. Emma nods, staring at her hand in his before she lets it fall away. She lays down on her couch with a sigh, her feet coming up to rest in Killian's lap and her gaze fixed on the ceiling.

"Thanks."

Silence falls, and where it would normally be comfortable, there's something else hanging in the air tonight, as Emma's breathing evens out and Killian gently massages one of her calves, his breathing slowing to match hers as sleep claims both of them.

* * *

It's not the first time Killian's fallen asleep in the middle of Emma's living room, but it's certainly the first time he's woken up hangover free in it. He glances at Emma and the slight furrow in her brow, the emotions she suppressed the night before becoming evident as she sleeps. He watches as her face seems to relax when he slips his hand under her legs, carefully lifting them and setting them back on the couch after he stands up. He has an awful crick in his neck and barely feels human, a quick glance at his watch showing that it's barely past seven.

Killian moves towards Emma's kitchen, scarcely used unless he is the one cooking or coffee is being made. He knows she'll want hot chocolate when she wakes and that she isn't one to sleep in, so he gets that sorted and makes a cup for himself too. He thinks about going to pick up breakfast around the corner, but Emma's vulnerable right now and he's not about to abandon her for even a second.

He's in the middle of making scrambled eggs (he's been meaning to talk to Emma about her dietary and shopping habits - one can't live on pop tarts and cereal _forever_ ) when he hears feet shuffling across the floor. She's rubbing her eyes and yawning in the most adorable way and Killian has to stop himself from reaching for her, has to remind himself that this is his best friend, not his girlfriend.

He has long since resigned himself to the fact that he is unworthy of Emma Swan, but to be fair, he thinks everyone is unworthy of her.

"What's for breakfast?" Emma asks, sliding onto a stool and leaning her elbows on the countertop, looking for all the world like her relationship of six years hadn't ended just the night before.

"Morning, love. Eggs and french toast," Killian replies, placing her hot cocoa in front of her before Emma even gets the chance to ask for it. He gets a smile for his efforts, small but genuine nonetheless. Emma had once admitted that he was the only one who could draw a smile from her in the morning, and he had spent the rest of the day grinning, full of self satisfaction.

"What would I do without you?" Emma says, laughing as she almost finishes her cup of hot chocolate in one large gulp.

Killian rolls his eyes and arches an eyebrow. "Starve, probably."

She laughs a little louder and grins at him. "Definitely. Now feed me."

"So demanding, Swan," Killian sighs, his smirk betraying his exasperated tone. "I'm afraid I've got to get going soon, love. I have class in half an hour."

Emma nods slowly, attention suddenly focused on the food in front of her. Killian remembers that she doesn't have to go into the office today; she's waiting on some leads of hers and she'll be spending her day on her laptop. He doesn't want to leave her alone, knows that she doesn't want to be, and wishes that he didn't have class today.

"I only have one class, and then I'm all yours," Killian promises. "We can even have a Pirates of the Caribbean marathon."

She perks up a bit at that and starts to eat again. "Okay, Jack Sparrow."

"There should be a 'Captain' in there somewhere," Killian reprimands her, expression completely serious for a record amount of time (an impressive thirty seconds).

The whole effect is ruined when he boops her on the nose.

She pretends to scowl at him and he holds her gaze until she starts laughing and has to look away before he forces himself to stand up.

"Alright, love, I'm off. Try not to go crazy until I get back," Killian says, his voice mocking but his eyes sincere.

"Aye, aye, Captain," Emma jokes back, adding an awful salute for effect. Killian knows it's a facade, but Emma's strong, and he's never seen her fail anything, so he knows she'll keep her promise.

He's almost to the door when he hears her speak, sounding as small as he's ever heard her.

"Killian?"

He turns immediately, opening his arms as he does so, and she's pressing her face to his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist, holding him tight. Neither of them says a word. Killian sways a bit from the force of Emma's hug and feels her squeeze him a little harder before letting go.

This smile of hers, just on the brink of being shy, is something he hasn't seen for quite some time. It's the same smile she had given him when they had first met, her bumping into him in the crowded hallway with dozens of teenagers passing them on either side. It's the smile she had on her face when she had once come with David to pick him up from the airport, after she had tackled him with a hug in the middle of baggage claim. It's a smile that he's missed more than he'd care to admit.

"Have a good class."

Killian prides himself on being rather eloquent, but he can't find the words to respond to Emma, so he nods and boops her nose one last time and then he's out the door.

 _Please let Dave be with Mary Margaret, please let Dave be with Mary Margaret_ , he prays as he foregoes the elevator and walks the flight of stairs up to his floor. He unlocks the door to his apartment and repeats his mantra once more, for good measure.

"Morning Dave!" Killian says, and knows that even David can see past his obviously fake grin, should he put enough effort into it.

"You're home early. And by early I mean late," David comments, his eyebrows raising. "I'm almost scared to ask why."

"Have a little faith, mate. I'm hurt that you think so little of me."

David rolls his eyes the exact same way Emma does, and Killian is reminded of how eerily similar they can be at times.

"Not that it's my business or anything, but why didn't you come back to the apartment after you left last night?"

"Why, are you jealous? You know I would never cheat on you," Killian says, his hand over his heart.

David gives him _the look_ , the one that assures Killian he will make an excellent father someday, and points to the recliner opposite their couch in a clear command for him to sit down. He folds his arms across his chest, one eyebrow raised expectantly, and he's twenty three but Killian suddenly feels like a child being scolded by a parent.

"Alright, well, if you must know, I was at Emma's." David's used to Killian spending more time at Emma's apartment than their own, but he can't help feeling guilty all the same.

"Are her and Neal fighting again?" David asks, looking more than ready to go downstairs and ask Neal himself.

"I suppose you could call it that," Killian remarks. "No, they broke up last night. For good, according to Emma." There have been breaks between Emma and Neal before, and Killian had been there for her every time, but he knows that it's different now. In the past Emma had greeted him at the door with a bottle of rum in her hand, and he hadn't asked any questions, just accepted her nonverbal request and gotten properly sloshed with her. She was always filled with anger, venting to Killian about everything Neal did wrong. This time, though, he had only seen sadness.

David takes a deep breath, slowly exhaling as his hands clench into fists. Killian can sympathise; the only thing that had stopped him from going after Neal to pack in a punch or two had been the fact that Emma needed him, and even then he still would have liked to teach Neal a lesson.

"Is Emma doing okay?"

Killian scratches the back of his head and shrugs. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. We didn't talk much, I'm afraid. Perhaps you can get more out of her today."

"No, if she's going to talk to anyone about it, it's going to be you," David says, shaking his head. "I'll go up and check on her during my lunch break though. Maybe I'll bring her some Thai food. Did she eat something this morning?"

The look on Killian's face is nothing short of wounded.

"Right, of course she did. God, I can't believe they really broke up this time. It's been bad before but I always thought they'd pull through. Mary Margaret had hoped Neal would be Emma's happy ending."

"We all did, mate."

"Really? You can honestly tell me that you wanted Emma to end up with Neal the entire time they were together?" There's a challenge in David's question, and Killian's not sure if he wants the answer to be yes or no.

"I can honestly tell you that I wanted Emma to end up happy," Killian says carefully, and ducks as David throws a pillow at him.

"You damn lawyers and your loopholes," he grumbles.

This time Killian's grin is genuine. "At least you know that I'm paying attention in class."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: For some reason this took me over a week to write, but I hope you guys like it all the same._

* * *

They're halfway through _Dead Man's Chest_ when she finally cracks. While Killian listens, he makes a note to collect twenty dollars from David, who had thought Emma would at least make it to _At World's End_ before she started talking about the break up. (Killian had warned David about betting against him when it came to Emma Swan, but who was he to turn down easy money? He had law school to get through after all.)

He stays quiet while Emma talks, watching as she goes from distraught to enraged as she tells him what happened. He knows it shouldn't make him feel better, seeing her as angry as she is, but this is proof that Emma will recover. It's been years since he's seen any remnants of the lost girl she had once been, and he had almost seen a trace of that girl last night, but luckily all of that seems to have gone.

"What a bloody wanker," Killian mutters when Emma finishes. It's a show of restraint that he doesn't use stronger language, the kind he learned in Irish pubs with his brother during summers spent back home.

She snorts and nods. "Yeah, a bloody wanker indeed," she agrees, a small smile tugging at her mouth at Killian's turn of phrase.

(When she had first met him, she had given him a list of things to say with his British accent. He had indulged her and gone through the entire list.)

It's easy for them to settle into a comfortable silence. Killian doesn't say much; if Emma had wanted someone to sit with her and analyze every detail of her relationship with Neal, she would have called Mary Margaret. They finish their marathon instead, Emma's head falling onto Killian's chest and his arm going around her shoulders somewhere along the way. Miraculously, they both manage to stay awake until the end credits of _On Stranger Tides_ , with an occasional poke in the side when one of them starts to nod off.

"You busy tomorrow morning?" Emma asks, reaching for the remote to turn off the TV.

"Morning?" Killian repeats, eyebrow raising. "Morning to regular people or morning to Emma Swan?"

"Very funny," Emma says dryly.

"I certainly like to think so," Killian replies, a goofy grin manifesting on his face. "But no, I'm not busy in the morning, or whatever you mean by the word."

"Okay, good. Let's go on a run," Emma suggests.

"You, running. In the morning. When the sun is up." Killian enunciates his words carefully, cradling Emma's face and tilting her head this way and that. "Have you thought about what you're saying, Swan?"

"For Christ's sake, Killian. Yes. And stop inspecting me like that, it's weird," Emma says, frowning at him even as he continues playing with her cheeks.

"What's with the sudden change in habits, love?" Killian asks, regretting his question as soon as he utters it. He knows exactly why Emma will want to get out of her apartment Saturday morning and can't for the life of him figure out what caused him to pester her about it.

Killian drops his hands, fully expecting Emma to evade his question and withdraw back into herself. She's already been more talkative and open than usual today; he's fairly certain she's met her limit. He opens his mouth to apologize (thoroughly, and perhaps with the help of expensive chocolate), but Emma starts talking before he gets the chance.

"I'm actually a morning person, when I don't have a hangover," Emma adds as an afterthought. "But when I was with Neal, there were a lot of lazy Saturday mornings and I don't know, I thought it'd be nice to do something productive during that time for a change."

"Understood, love. No explanation necessary. Be dressed and ready to go at seven sharp," Killian says, his smile a reflection of Emma's.

At the word _seven_ , Emma's smile disappears.

"Okay, maybe I'm not _that_ much of a morning person," she says quickly, a slightly panicked look in her eyes that only makes Killian's smile widen. "How about eight?"

"Seven thirty," Killian acquiesces, a challenge in his tone that makes Emma sigh with resignation.

"Fine. Seven thirty."

They shake on it.

* * *

"Up and at 'em, Swan!" Killian says cheerfully, walking into Emma's kitchen and making himself a cup of coffee with the Keurig. (He will never admit it to her, but he loves the damn thing.)

"I hate you sometimes," Emma remarks, emerging from her room with her blonde curls gathered into a ponytail. "Make me some too."

"I've been around longer enough to know that you can't function without coffee, love, as much as you claim to be a morning person," Killian says. There are some things Emma doesn't have to ask for when it comes to Killian, easy friendship and coffee being among those things.

"Just so you know, it's been a while since I've gone running."

Killian takes a sip of his coffee, maintaining eye contact with Emma as he does so. His entire demeanor screams _oh really?_ and Emma caves.

"Fine, I've only gone running once or twice," she sighs. "Let's just go."

Killian laughs and hands Emma her tumbler, his car keys already in his hand. "Way ahead of you, Swan."

He drives them to the nearby park, the one with the five mile trail and plenty of shade, because it's May in Boston and neither of them does very well with prolonged exposure to direct sunlight. He grumbles when Emma changes the radio station and she grouses at him when he insists on stopping for every pedestrian at every crosswalk. When he parks and hands Emma a full water bottle, he expects her to complain, but to his surprise she simply thanks him and makes sure her shoes are double knotted.

Somehow, Emma gets ahead of him (he will forever blame the infernal squirrel that ran out in front of him), and at first Killian feels the sting on his pride, but as they continue to run he has to thank whoever it was that created the leggings Emma is wearing.

Then he has to remind himself that it's his best friend's ass that he's admiring.

Killian shakes his head and catches up to Emma easily, passing her and shouting _on your left_ as he goes.

She starts sprinting and looks back to stick her tongue out at him, barely avoiding tripping when faces forward again. It's a hard task for Killian to suppress his laugh, so he doesn't bother.

They race on and off, but by the end of the second mile neither of them has the energy to keep it up. They settle into an easy rhythm instead, Killian shortening his strides so that Emma can keep up with him. Emma starts to slow and Killian picks up his pace a bit, grabbing her hand and pulling her along until they finish the entire loop. He can feel her glare boring into the back of his head and just tells her that she'll thank him later.

They stop to catch their breath before heading back to the car, Emma dramatically collapsing on the grass and Killian using his water bottle to spray her in the face. She half heartedly aims a kick at his leg, her foot barely tapping his calf.

"You know, for a bail bondsperson, you would think that you'd be in better shape," Killian observes, pausing his music and wrapping up his headphones. He can hear the faint sound of an ice cream truck in the distance and counts the seconds until Emma hears it too.

(He gets to four.)

"Killian."

He laughs because he's already walking towards the ice cream truck with his wallet in hand.

"You're the best," Emma says, sitting up and grinning.

Killian taps his popsicle against hers lightly. "And don't you forget it."

They drive back to their building, Killian singing along to every song that comes on the radio and Emma pretending to cover her ears because she's too tired to properly mock him. Besides, it's kind of impressive that he knows all the words to the latest Maroon 5 song, especially since he claims that he doesn't like any of their new music.

Killian insists that Emma come up to his apartment so that she can directly tell David what happened between her and Neal, and he almost wins the argument, but then she's looking at him and her eyes are big and sad and he can't make her do it.

"You win this time, Swan," Killian grumbles, and suddenly the puppy dog eyes are gone, replaced by a devious smirk.

"I always do."

Killian drops Emma off at her apartment with a promise to be back later for taco night with David and Mary Margaret and makes his way up to his own place. He's barely on the other side of the door when the first question comes.

"So, how is she?"

David and Mary Margaret are both on the couch, looking at him expectantly, Agents of Shield marathon suspended.

"Swan's fine," he says, his answer purposefully short as he watches the couple straighten up, arms crossed against their chests.

"What happened with Neal?" David blurts out, expression turning sheepish as Mary Margaret sends him an admonishing look.

Killian gives them the run down version (they can get details from Emma herself) but it's enough to make the pair furious.

"He tried to get her involved with that scheme that landed his dad in _jail_?"

"Aye, that he did."

"And when she wouldn't, he attacked her for not being able to commit?" The second outburst comes from Mary Margaret, who looks more appalled than the time she had walked in on Killian and David singing karaoke whilst drunk. "That is _awful_."

"I'm inclined to agree," Killian says.

"I should go check on her," Mary Margaret says, already standing.

"I'll go with you," David offers. "She'd probably appreciate the company."

"And I'll go with you both because I can't imagine this confrontation going anything less than perfect," Killian sighs.

"Let me go in first," Killian says, waiting until Mary Margaret and David (reluctantly) agree before he sticks his head in the door.

"Hey," Emma says, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Her blonde hair is wrapped up in a towel and Killian taps the top of it. (He had once asked her to show him how to do that but that's another story entirely.) "You've barely been gone for like twenty minutes. What's up?"

"Dave and Mary Margaret felt the need to come check on you, and I'm here to act as the buffer."

Emma wrinkles her nose and shakes out her wet hair, throwing the towel on the couch. "Guess I can't avoid them forever. Are they on the other side of the door?"

Killian nods, shooting Emma a sympathetic smile as he opens the door and Mary Margaret and David burst into the room.

They immediately wrap Emma into one giant bear hug and Killian can see her struggling to find out some way to breathe. He covers a laugh but the glare Emma sends his way means she knows exactly what he's thinking and doesn't find the situation nearly as funny as he does.

"Hi guys," Emma says, sounding more than a little breathless when their friends finally let her go. "What's up?"

"Hi sweetie," Mary Margaret says, cradling Emma's face in her hands. "Can I get you anything? Some soup? Ice cream?"

"A punching bag maybe?" David interjects, stepping back and joining Killian in the kitchen because they both know that once Mary Margaret gets into mothering mode, there's no going back.

"Mary Margaret, I broke up with Neal. I didn't find out I was dying."

The brunette's face begs to differ.

"Emma, it's okay. You can be honest. How are you really doing?"

"As I'm sure Killian told you already, I'm fine." Emma regrets her tone as soon as she finishes talking and gives Mary Margaret an apologetic smile that's more of a grimace.

"Okay honey," Mary Margaret says, pulling Emma into another hug. "Just know that I'm here for you whenever you want to talk about it."

"And I appreciate that, I do," Emma tells her, the smile on her face sincere this time. "But really, I'm okay. Hungry, but okay."

"We could probably persuade David to make you a grilled cheese," Mary Margaret says, grinning back at Emma.

"Don't tell Killian, but David makes _the best_ grilled cheese."

Mary Margaret laughs and pulls David aside to repeat what Emma said.

Ten minutes later, all four of them are sitting at the counter eating when Killian nudges Emma's leg with his, knees and ankles knocking together.

"Alright there, Swan?"

Emma looks around at her three best friends, Mary Margaret peeling off the crusts to her sandwich and sneaking them onto David's plate, David pretending not to notice, and Killian giving her his full attention, as always, and finds that maybe her apartment isn't as empty as she'd thought. Neal may be gone but she's far from alone.

"Never better, Jones."

* * *

 **Review?**


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This story is going to be much longer than I originally thought. Hope y'all are okay with that._

* * *

They settle into a comfortable routine surprisingly fast. Killian goes to Emma's apartment in the morning, they have breakfast together, he goes to school and she goes to work. They have dinner with David and Mary Margaret a couple nights a week and have game night every Friday, which mostly consists of Emma and David throwing game board pieces at the others, who are unfairly skilled in Monopoly. They stay up late, talking and laughing and exchanging fake currency over cups of hot chocolate, and the next morning Killian mercilessly drags Emma out of the building for a run.

Some days she doesn't even think about Neal, but when she does, she finds it doesn't hurt as much as it used to.

Killian's currently sprawled out on her couch, surrounded by textbooks and notes and highlighters in five different colors. Emma's sitting on the floor with her legs crossed underneath her, curls pulled into a messy ponytail and glasses sliding down her nose as she focuses on the laptop screen in front of her.

They're reminded of days spent in dimly lit classrooms together, passing notes and taking turns distracting the teacher with mindless questions so that the other (usually Emma) could finish the homework from the night before, kicking each other under desks when one of them falls asleep in the middle of a lecture and trading parts of their lunches because Emma hates pizza crust and loves grapes and Killian is the exact opposite.

Emma remembers study dates at the local library, Killian patiently explaining the difference between covalent and ionic bonds for the fifth time and her quizzing him using neat flashcards because Killian's a nerd and likes to color code things by subject. David would join them when he got desperate and later, he'd bring Mary Margaret too, and it would go from studying to cracking jokes about their teacher.

She cranes her head to look at him, eyebrows furrowed and hair sticking up from all the times he's run his hands through it in the past hour, and decides that they could both use a break (his will be from studying for a final and hers will be from Facebook and it makes her want to laugh).

"Killian?"

He doesn't take his eyes off the material in front of him and Emma has to smile.

"Yes Swan?"

"I think you need to take a break," Emma says, watching as Killian stifles a yawn and not even bothering to do the same a second later.

"Let me just finish this chapter." It's Saturday and he's already halfway through revising his notes. His final isn't until Friday.

Emma sighs, because Killian is already back to writing on sticky notes and highlighting important bits of information and she knows he isn't going to stop willingly.

She figures what she's about to do is mean, but he really needs to eat something. (And so does she.)

Emma closes the textbook that Killian is currently hovering over, making sure to use one of his highlighters as a bookmark so he doesn't lose his place because she isn't _cruel_. She stands up and slides the notebook from his lap, grabbing his hands and pulling him up next to her.

"Come on, we're going to Granny's," Emma says, her tone leaving no room for disagreement. Killian grouses and half heartedly tries to pull out of her grasp but she heard his stomach growling earlier and he can never turn down apple cinnamon pancakes at Granny's.

Granny's is only a block away from their apartment complex, an old fashioned diner run by a widow with snarky comments and her granddaughter Ruby. Emma and Killian make it a point to stop by every other week, sometimes with their other friends but mostly without them, because Granny's is their place and has been since they moved to Boston.

Every time Emma had a fight with Neal (and they fought often), Killian didn't even bother getting ice cream. He always went straight to Granny's. Every time Killian suffered from a hangover, Emma would show up at his apartment with scrambled eggs and coffee.

When Emma opens the door a little bell chimes, and it sounds a bit like home.

"Hey guys! It's been a while," Ruby says. She doesn't have to ask before she turns around and yells their regular orders to the chef. "Your booth is empty."

Emma grins and Killian smiles reluctantly as she drags him along, despite the fact that he is muttering about how he needs to study with his final coming up the following week.

Ruby takes one look at them sitting in the corner of the diner and pours a cup of hot chocolate for Emma and a cup of coffee for Killian.

"Let me guess, finals?" Ruby asks, setting their drinks down and smiling sympathetically.

"Yes, and I should be studying for them now," Killian says with a pointed look for Emma.

"He needed to get out," Emma says directly to Ruby. She doesn't have to face Killian to see that his hair is still sticking up in every direction. " _Bad_."

"I can see that," Ruby replies, laughing as she pats Killian on the shoulder. "Best of luck, Killian. Your pancakes should be ready in a couple of minutes."

Ruby leaves and by the time she comes back with their food, Emma has managed to convince Killian that leaving her apartment wasn't as terrible of an idea that he made it out to be.

Killian drenches his pancakes in syrup, partly because he loves them that way and partly because he knows it will prevent Emma from sneaking bites from his plate. He doesn't think she notices when he spares half of one pancake from the syrup onslaught, but she does. She's noticed for all four years he's been doing it.

(She's been putting extra syrup on a piece of her french toast for just as long.)

Neither of them is bothered by the fact that it's one in the afternoon and they're eating breakfast food, but they've eaten pizza for breakfast and cereal for dinner countless times and the time of day has never stopped them from fulfilling cravings.

Emma is careful not to eat too fast because she managed to get Killian away from his notes and she's going to make sure his eyes get a proper break. He doesn't need glasses at the moment, but Emma's certain that prescription lenses are in his future.

Killian's expression lets her know that he's onto her and she couldn't care less.

"Stop glaring at me. How about this, since I dragged you here, I'll pay for lunch," Emma says, finishing off the last of Killian's pancakes.

Over the years he's learned (through trial and error) to let Emma pick up the bill when she wants, despite the fact that he strongly believes that a gentleman always pays when out with a lady.

"Alright Swan, but next time, lunch is on me."

"Sounds good to me," Emma says, her grin cheeky as she taps Killian's cup with hers.

Emma pays for lunch and when they stop at the corner store, Killian buys two tubs of ice cream, neither of which are going to end up in his apartment. Then it's back to studying for him and Netflix for her.

* * *

"Swan!"

"Jones!" Emma says into her phone, tugging her boots off and leaving them by her door. "How'd the final go?"

"I don't mean to presume, but it went brilliantly." She can hear his grin through the phone. "Thanks to your help, of course."

"Of course," Emma agrees, laughing. Her flipping flashcards has nothing to do with Killian's success but he's trying to sound modest and she's going to let him. "We should celebrate!"

"You've read my mind, Swan. Rabbit Hole tonight. I'll let Dave and Mary Margaret know."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Emma hangs up and walks over to the kitchen, because if they're celebrating they should celebrate properly. She's no cook, but she can read instructions off of a box of brownie mix and pour ingredients into a bowl.

Killian lets himself into her apartment just as she is taking the brownies out of the oven and she swears he must have smelled them and came running.

"Are those for me?" His smile is exceptionally childlike and hopeful and exactly what she knew it'd be when she pulled the brownie mix out of the pantry.

"No, they're for my neighbor," Emma deadpans. They've taken to calling the middle aged man next door Grumpy because he complains about anything and everything. "Yes, they're for you, Killian."

"How long before I can eat them?" Killian bounces a little as he asks and Emma bumps his hip with hers so that he'll move away from the brownies.

"Let them sit for ten minutes."

He sets a timer on his phone.

Killian is going to be staring at the screen until it gets all the way down to zero and Emma leaves him to it, because jeans and a plain white tank top aren't exactly bar attire (plus it's ninety degrees outside and she's not entirely sure the Rabbit Hole has AC).

"Pink dress or black dress?" Emma shouts from her room, hands on her hips as she looks at her options.

"Black dress, definitely." Killian's words sound muffled and Emma expects an entire row of brownies to be gone by the time she finishes getting dressed (maybe two if she does her hair).

She steps into the black leather dress, fiddling with the zipper until she gives up and calls Killian into her room.

"You cut quite the figure in that dress, Swan." The statement matched with the raised eyebrow would have had more of an impact if Killian hadn't walked up to her with a brownie in his hand.

Emma snorts. "Alright, Romeo. Can you zip me up?"

"It would be my pleasure," he says, licking his lips in an obscene gesture that Emma recognizes as his trademark trick to get girls.

"Gross," she says, wrinkling her nose and sticking her tongue out at him. "Don't ever do that again."

Killian laughs and the mysterious British sex god is gone, replaced by the goofy dork Emma's known since she was sixteen.

"You should have seen your face," Killian says, gasping for breath as he finally zips Emma's dress up. "Remember that time Scarlet tried to hit on you?"

"I also happen to remember you punching him after."

"And I'd do it again," Killian says matter-of-factly. "He was being a right git."

"You guys go out drinking together like every Saturday," Emma says incredulously, grabbing her black pumps and walking out of her room. She doesn't have to look to know that Killian's following her.

"That doesn't change the fact that he was a git."

He doesn't have to look to know that Emma is rolling her eyes.

David and Mary Margaret meet them at the bar, the latter gushing about Emma's dress and how beautiful she looks while the former vows to fend off any unsavory characters who even attempt to talk to her.

(Killian endorses David's behavior and smirks at the scowl Emma sends him, because she can take care of herself, _thank you very much_ , but that will never stop David from trying to protect her.)

Killian's gone to get the next round but it's taking him a while. Emma glances over at the bar and sees him chatting up a brunette with a particularly loud laugh and rolls her eyes because they've barely been at the bar for half an hour and he's already found someone to take home.

Emma nudges David with her elbow and tilts her head toward Killian, laughing when David rolls her eyes the same way she had just seconds ago.

"There goes our evening. And here I thought we'd manage a full hour this time."

Killian comes back with the girl and introduces her as Milah, and she slides into Killian's seat next to Emma.

Milah is fun and open and affectionate, and she manages to get Mary Margaret and David in stitches after one drink. She's full of life and amazingly friendly and has really seemed to hit it off with Killian. Even Mary Margaret and David like her. Milah fits in with their group perfectly and has an abundance of things in common with every single one of them, especially Emma, because even though she's not as guarded as Emma, she's still careful of who she lets into her life. Milah is a great storyteller and it's obvious that Killian really likes her from the way he sings her praises. And Killian hasn't liked anybody for a long time.

Emma can't stand her.

* * *

 **Review?**


	4. Chapter 4

Emma makes an effort to get along with Milah at first. She makes light conversation with her whenever they go to the Rabbit Hole and even goes so far as to invite Milah to girls' night with Mary Margaret and Ruby. She's not too bad, and her and Emma make a great team warding off sleazy guys at the bar.

But when Milah starts showing up for taco night and game night, Emma isn't too happy. She draws the line when Milah joins her and Killian for Saturday morning runs.

She begins to come up with excuses to not go running, not participate in game night. She tells Killian she's sick, she's tracking down a perp, she had a late night and isn't in the mood for physical activity. Emma has a harder time convincing Mary Margaret and David of her excuses. Mary Margaret tries to ask her about it once, but Emma snaps at her (and apologizes profusely afterwards) and she leaves it alone.

She's tired of the excuses but she's even more tired of hanging out with Milah all the time. Milah fits in so well with their group, and four is a much better number than five. Their booth used to be a sanctuary for Emma, David and Killian's apartment a haven. Now she'll do anything to avoid both places, because where Killian is, Milah is also.

It's Saturday and Emma is still in bed, face pressed into her pillow. Her phone is going off on her nightstand and she knows it's Killian calling her, asking her if she's up for a run this week. She waits until her phone stops ringing and texts him with another excuse and expects a _good luck_ from him.

She doesn't expect him to burst into her room with a scowl on his face.

"Are you avoiding me, Swan?"

It's far too early for his shouting and she can't understand why he's so angry, which makes her angry in return. She lifts her head up enough to glare at him before letting it fall back onto her pillow.

"No, Jones, I'm avoiding getting fired. I have work to do today."

"You're still in bed."

"I was about to get up when you decided to grace me with your presence."

"You haven't been by the apartment in weeks." There's something akin to hurt in Killian's tone and Emma's anger dissipates.

She sits up, tugging her comforter forward to cover her chest because she's not wearing a bra and Killian doesn't need to know that.

"I'm sorry. I've been busy." She tries to put as much sincerity as she can into her words because she needs Killian to believe her. She doesn't want to have to explain that she doesn't like his girlfriend. (It would break his heart and given the choice, he'd choose Emma, and she's not going to make him do that.)

"Have I done something to upset you?"

He sounds so concerned and Emma almost confesses the truth.

"You haven't done anything to upset me." It's not really a lie - at least, that's what Emma tells herself.

Killian sighs and sits down at the edge of her bed, and Emma knows he's restless because he can't keep his hands still.

"Is it Milah? Did she do something to offend you?"

It's obvious how much Killian hopes the answer is no, but he asks the question because he genuinely cares and Emma doesn't know what to do. Killian's always been able to read her like a book, and the only time she gets away with lying to him is over the phone (even then, she doesn't always succeed).

"Emma."

He never calls her that.

"Killian, Milah didn't do anything."

"Then what is it?

Emma ducks her head, picking at her sheets and doing anything she can to avoid looking at Killian. "Don't you and Milah have a park to get to?"

"Milah's with her family today. I thought you and I could go to Granny's," Killian says, and he's suddenly the shy boy offering her help in chemistry again. "I feel as though I haven't seen you in weeks, Swan."

Emma hesitates, because it would be so easy to continue distancing herself from him, but she misses her best friend and Granny's sounds really good right now.

"I guess work can wait a couple of hours."

He looks like a kid on Christmas morning.

Killian keeps grinning at her until she pointedly looks down at her chest and then the door, but he still doesn't seem to get it.

"Killian, if you want to go, I need to get dressed."

"Oh, right, I'll let you get to it."

She swears that the tips of his ears are pink when he leaves, slamming the door behind him in his haste, and she hopes he can hear her laugh from the living room.

* * *

He waits until there is food in front of her before he questions her again.

"Emma, really, why have you been avoiding me?"

Her food is an excellent distraction and she focuses on neatly cutting the sausage up into bite size pieces because Killian is asking her something she hopes she never has to actually answer (mostly because she doesn't know _how_ ).

"I just, I don't know, I thought I'd give you space to adjust to having a serious girlfriend and I didn't realize I pulled back too much," Emma says quietly. It's as close as she's going to get to the truth and they both know it. "I didn't really think Milah would appreciate having her boyfriend's female best friend around all the time."

"Swan, if Milah or anyone else wants to date me, they have to accept the fact that we're a package deal." Killian's voice is exceedingly gentle and Emma averts her gaze, because she doesn't want him to see how vulnerable she feels right now.

She's never been picked first for anything. Not for sports, not for partner projects, not for adoption. Killian's the only one who's always put her first.

She can't lose that.

(God, she's been so stupid.)

"I'm so sorry. I'll be better, I promise. No more skipping out on group hang outs," Emma promises, and she feels even worse for her poor behavior when Killian's entire face lights up.

"Good. We've missed having you around."

Emma arches an eyebrow. "We?"

Killian shrugs and grins at her. "We, me. I'm sure the others have missed you just as much."

"Um, about that."

"What?" It's almost comical how wary Killian looks.

"Mary Margaret and David have kind of been sneaking down to my apartment whenever you're not home. And we've been making tacos. And playing Monopoly. And maybe Uno, once or twice." She shouldn't feel this guilty over Mexican food and board games, but she does.

"They didn't," Killian gasps. "You didn't." She knows he's being dramatic for effect and she laughs all the harder for it.

"We did."

"I'm genuinely hurt, Swan," Killian says, hand over his heart and expression solemn.

"I'm genuinely sorry, Jones," Emma replies, mimicking his pose and desperately trying to keep a straight face.

Killian's never been able to even fake being mad at Emma for long. All it takes is one bat of her eyelashes and no matter how angry or upset he is, he forgives her instantaneously. (She at least tries to resist before she caves, but she never lasts long either.)

He doesn't really mind that Emma's been spending time with David and Mary Margaret - after all, David is her brother - but that doesn't stop him from acting like a petulant child the rest of the car ride home, poking her sides and turning up the radio volume to an obnoxious level. Emma would normally scold him or hit the back of his head at stop lights, and sometimes she would even elbow him in the ribs. This time she ignores it because she's just happy to be with her best friend without anyone else there to ruin it. She wonders if she's being selfish and can't bring herself to care either way.

Killian makes it a point to start taking Emma to Granny's every week after their run, and never tells her that he asked Milah to let him spend Saturdays with Emma alone (or about the fight that ensued after).

* * *

Emma keeps her word and participates in game night the following Friday. She even brings Doritos - which she hates - because she knows Milah likes them.

It's a little awkward at first. Mary Margaret and David more or less know why she's been absent for so long (she didn't have to actually say the words out loud to them, thank God), and they keep shooting her concerned looks across the coffee table. Ruby's there too, sitting next to her because if they're playing in teams, they can't have only five people, but Ruby's dislike for Milah is apparent and Emma feels like it's her fault.

They don't have as much fun as they used to. It's harder to get as invested in the game, and Emma and Ruby aren't as good of a team as Emma and Killian.

Emma gets a little satisfaction in seeing that Milah and Killian make a terrible team and immediately feels awful.

No one's holding back on the alcohol tonight. None of them have work the next morning except for possibly Ruby, and she can easily drink them all under the table. Once everyone has finished off two beers, they get a bit louder, a bit more indignant when they have to pay a ridiculously high rent to someone else.

Mary Margaret and David win, and it's the first time since they started this weekly tradition. Normally Emma had a fifty percent chance of beating Killian, and there was no competition if they worked as a team. This time, both of their teams go bankrupt.

Emma and Killian take the loss a lot harder than either Ruby or Milah. They haven't lost in a long time, and losing to each other isn't nearly as bad as losing to Mary Margaret and David - that's downright shameful.

"What in the world just happened?" Killian asks, eyes wide as he stares at the Monopoly board.

"We won," David says proudly, high fiving Mary Margaret.

"I repeat, what in the world just happened?"

"I can't believe you guys won," Emma says. "I mean, no offense, but you guys never win."

"Which makes the victory all the sweeter," Mary Margaret replies, grinning at David and kissing him on the cheek.

"Do you remember the time we were able to win in just twenty minutes? That has to be some kind of Monopoly record," Killian says to Emma.

"Or the time where it was down to you and me and the game lasted for four days? That was insane," Emma says, shaking her head.

She makes the mistake of glancing at Milah, whose expression has turned sour, and her lighthearted mood is gone in a heartbeat.

"Well, I'm exhausted. That last round really took it out of me. Thanks for hosting guys, and Ruby, thanks for teaming up with me," Emma says, quickly getting to her feet and grabbing her shoes before her friends can protest.

David gets up too, and at first Emma thinks he's going to try to convince her to stay, but he walks her to the door and gives her a big hug. She's swaying a little and he offers to take her back to her apartment, Mary Margaret coming over to give Emma a hug of her own.

"That's probably a good idea," Mary Margaret says, brushing Emma's hair out of her face with a concerned smile. "Emma had a little more to drink than the rest of us."

"I wonder why," David says dryly, and Emma flushes bright red.

"I had a long week," she tells them, biting her lip and hoping they leave it alone.

They do.

"Come on, I'll walk you to your door."

"I'll be okay, _Dad_. I'm just one floor down. I think I can manage to get on the elevator and walk a few steps to my apartment."

"I can take her, Dave. I have to walk Milah to her car anyways."

Milah looks thrilled and Emma has to sympathize with her. She's been nothing but civil this entire time, but this is a bit much to ask her to deal with.

Emma's out the door before Milah and Killian manage to get their shoes on and practically sprints down the stairs in her haste to get to her apartment. She gets inside and quickly shuts the door behind her, leaning against it with one question racing through her head.

 _What's gotten into me?_

* * *

 **Review?**


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Did anyone else die when the 'The Dust Storm' trailer came out? Because I sure did, and now all I can imagine is Killian rocking out in an empty apartment with an electric guitar and way too much head banging._

* * *

"Emma, we need to talk."

Mary Margaret sets down a cup of tea in front of Emma and leans forward, elbows on the kitchen counter and expression as solemn as Emma's ever seen her.

"About what?" Emma asks, because she really doesn't know. She's been a gem with Milah for the past couple of weeks, taking care to make it explicitly clear that her relationship with Killian is purely platonic. She's found a good balance when it comes to hanging out with Killian without infuriating his girlfriend and she has to say, she's pretty proud of herself. She doesn't see a problem, but apparently Mary Margaret does.

"You've just been so tentative around Milah lately," Mary Margaret says, and Emma can tell that she's picking her words with care. "Like you're afraid of setting a bomb off."

"Well, can you blame me? God knows what the aftermath of a Milah explosion would look like," Emma snorts, sipping at her tea.

Mary Margaret has to smile at that, because while she likes Milah, she's seen how feisty she can be when she's passionate about something, and it's not exactly pretty. (That last game of Monopoly had included some very creative swears from everyone involved.)

"I think Killian's noticed how you walk on eggshells when Milah's around."

"What makes you say that?" Emma's tried to be subtle, she really has, but leave it to Killian to still sense that something's wrong.

"He told me," Mary Margaret admits, and her confession has Emma gaping at her, eyes wide and jaw dropped.

Mary Margaret and Killian haven't always been the best of friends. When David had first brought Mary Margaret by the apartment, Killian had his amp at the volume that caused neighbors to complain and was dancing around the living room with his guitar. The second time, he had been in the middle of a Netflix binge session, and Mary Margaret hadn't approved of his choice of show. The third time they met up at a coffee shop down the block, Killian had shamelessly flirted with the barista and managed to get a free drink, and had to suffer under Mary Margaret's disapproving stare until they finished their coffee.

Needless to say, it took a while for Killian to grow on her.

(It wasn't until Emma stepped in and told Mary Margaret about their days in high school that she reevaluated her opinion of Killian. After all, anyone who had the patience to tutor Emma in something couldn't be that bad.)

'It must've really been bothering him then," Emma says, once the shock has passed and she manages to close her mouth. "Why didn't he say anything to me? Or David?"

Mary Margaret gives her _the look_ , the one reserved for stupid questions with obvious answers.

"Okay, so I probably would've lied to him and David wouldn't have said anything useful. I don't know what he wants from me though. There's no situation where all of us are equally happy," Emma says, picking at one of the muffins Mary Margaret had brought over.

"But you don't have to pick the situation where you're miserable," Mary Margaret says, voice soft and eyes kind.

The conversation is digging in a bit too deep, and this is usually when Emma would abruptly change the subject or leave, but there's always been something about Mary Margaret that trumps her _fight or flight_ instinct, something that prompts her to stay and pour her heart out over green tea and pastries.

"I'm like ninety percent certain that I've already been the cause of a few fights between Killian and Milah. I'd never forgive myself for being the cause of more," Emma says, and she feels ridiculous for saying it out loud, but if she was the reason her best friend broke up with his first serious girlfriend, she'd live with the guilt forever.

Mary Margaret reaches across the counter and grabs Emma's hand. "Emma, _you_ are not the cause of those fights. That is all Milah's own insecurity, and Killian isn't exactly blameless."

"What do you mean?"

There's a new hesitance to Mary Margaret that completely throws Emma off and makes her feel hopelessly out of the loop.

"During that period of time where you stopped coming by the apartment, you were all Killian could talk about. Everything reminded him of you because most of his memories since coming to Boston involve you. He didn't really see it, but I could tell that it bothered Milah a lot," Mary Margaret says. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but I do feel kind of bad for her. It's hard to adjust when you feel like you're taking another woman's place and there are big shoes to fill."

The name of David's ex-girlfriend (the one he had been dating before he bumped into Mary Margaret, spilled coffee all over her shirt, and had his heart stolen) goes unsaid, and Emma remembers how terrible Mary Margaret had felt before Kathryn had confessed that things hadn't been so great between her and David for months and that she was planning to end it.

Emma had supported Mary Margaret through that entire ordeal, so she supposes she can support Milah in her relationship with Killian.

"That does suck," Emma agrees, and it's obviously not what Mary Margaret was expecting, but she means it. It's not Milah's fault that Killian doesn't know when to leave well enough alone. "I'll talk to him about it."

Mary Margaret nods and doesn't say anything, as if that will make Emma change her mind, which makes Emma laugh as she asks her what movie she wants to watch today.

* * *

She's sitting at the counter at Granny's with a mug of hot chocolate and her laptop in front of her, eyes intent as she searches for information on her current case. She can feel her glasses slipping down her nose (she dropped her contacts down the drain _again_ ) but doesn't bother adjusting them because she's focused and doesn't want to lose that.

Emma doesn't look up when someone slides onto the stool next to her, doesn't pay attention to them until her glasses are moving, pushed back into place by a hand that is not hers.

She rolls her eyes and keeps working. "Hi Killian."

Emma keeps her gaze fixed on her laptop but she can see Killian's grin (more importantly, how wide and genuine it is).

"How come you're here and not your apartment? I stopped by earlier to see if you wanted to grab lunch." Killian's bouncing in his seat a little when Ruby puts a cup of coffee and Emma is tempted to ask her to take it away, because the last thing Killian needs right now is _more_ energy.

"My apartment was too quiet," Emma says, arching an eyebrow and grabbing Killian's hand because his incessant tapping on the counter is not the kind of white noise she wants to hear. She lets go when his fingers stop moving, but then he's at it again, so this time she grabs his hand and doesn't let go.

(She ignores how pleased he looks at this small victory.)

"You're a child," she informs him, sounding as exasperated as she feels.

Killian drinks his coffee and Emma continues to work, unhindered by the fact that she can only use one hand. They used to hold hands all the time, when one of them was worried, anxious, angry. It was physical reassurance that someone had their back, that they had unconditional support from at least one person in the world. It's easy for them to fall back into old habits at Granny's, which stays the same no matter how much time passes.

Neither of them sees anything wrong with this platonic display of affection, but Emma knows that it wouldn't have lasted as long in a place where Milah could see them.

Killian stands up to go to the bathroom and his hand slips out of Emma's grasp. She doesn't miss a beat and goes back to typing.

Ruby comes over and refills her hot chocolate, but there's a purse to her lips and a furrow in her brow that make Emma sigh.

"What is it, Ruby?"

"I just don't get why you and Killian never dated," Ruby says. Emma knows it's her fault for asking, but she hadn't expected Ruby to be so blunt.

"Because we're friends? We don't see each other like that." Emma's delivered the same line since she became friends with Killian, and is exceedingly tired of explaining why she could never and will never date Killian Jones.

Ruby's quiet _hm_ begs to differ, but Emma is used to people not believing her when it comes to Killian, so she doesn't bother defending herself a second time.

(She remembers early morning and late night fights - screaming matches, if she's being completely honest - with Neal about the very same topic and hopes Ruby doesn't see her cringe.)

Emma doesn't want Killian and Milah to experience what she went through with Neal.

Ruby gives her another look and walks away, yelling orders at the cook and refilling coffee for other customers. Killian comes back and Emma avoids any physical contact with him, even when his tapping gets so loud she can't concentrate.

* * *

Killian prides himself on being intelligent. He's the student that takes meticulous notes and aces every exam, and keeps at a problem until he can find the solution. When it comes to building a bridge between Emma and Milah, though, he simply can't figure it out. This is a puzzle that he can't solve, and he despises that.

He had been hoping that the two most important women in his life would work it out between themselves without any interference from him, but when he notices how they avoid talking to each other whenever they can, it becomes apparent that he needs to get involved.

Killian brings it up with Milah first. He waits until she's in a good mood, relaxing on the couch with her feet in his lap and a bowl of freshly washed blueberries (which Emma hates, and he pushes the thought out of his head).

The conversation doesn't go so well, and a few blueberries get thrown at him.

Luckily, Milah is willing to listen once she's had her say, and Killian does his best to fully express his sincerity.

"Emma is my best friend, and that's it. We've been a team since high school, with her standing up to all the kids who called me a nerd and me getting rid of jerks who wanted to date her once I had my growth spurt. She's as much my sister as she is David's," Killian says, grabbing Milah's hands and squeezing them tight.

Milah fidgets, but she doesn't pull away, and he takes that as a good sign.

"I guess I just worry," she blurts out eventually, blushing furiously as she does.

"About what, love?"

"I worry that I'll never understand you the way she does. You've known each other for so long, it's kind of hard for an outsider to feel like they belong," Milah says. Killian nods, and she continues. "Same for the entire group, really. You've all got this amazing dynamic and you all mesh so well. You already have your routines and traditions, and don't even get me started on the inside jokes."

Killian's eyes widen and he feels like the biggest fool in the world (David included).

"Milah, I'm so sorry, truly. I never meant to make you feel left out. I should have realized it sooner."

He gets a small smile in return and he's reminded of how deeply he cares for this woman, with her ability to love so openly and forgive so easily.

"I should have said something sooner, too," Milah says, and Killian can tell she means it, that she's not saying those words simply for his benefit. "It was stupid of me to try and fix the problem on my own, and to get so jealous of Emma."

"I think you two could actually be very good friends."

"You think?"

Killian grins and pulls Milah in for a kiss. "Of course. After all, you have something amazing in common."

"What's that?" Milah asks, smiling back up at him.

"Me, of course."

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6

_A/N:_ _Sorry for the delay, currently on a family vacation and my computer and I don't get a lot of alone time._

* * *

"What a banner day," Emma grumbles, kicking off her boots and flinging herself face first onto her couch. Her favorite leather jacket is ruined, she's sure there are more than a couple of scrapes on her arms and legs, and she's on her period. Not a particularly great combination for a Monday night.

Her phone vibrates on the cushion next to her and she sighs, because she doesn't know if she's capable of any more human interaction for the day. (The perp she had tracked down had been anything but charming.)

 **Did you catch your guy?**

The text is from Killian, which is the only reason Emma musters up the energy to reply, knowing he'll worry if she doesn't.

 _Yep._

She adds a sighing emoji at the end and turns her phone on _do not disturb_ mode. She gets up long enough to change into a shirt from high school that skims her thighs and take off her jeans and bra before collapsing onto the couch again.

Emma's on the cusp of falling asleep when she hears her door open and a muttered _shit_ as keys drop onto the floor.

"Killian?"

"I figured you wouldn't have eaten and took the liberty of ordering pizza." He walks around to set the pizza down on the coffee table and Emma finally gets a good look at him. Killian's in a white t-shirt and blue striped pajama pants, his hair and clothes rumpled. Emma figures that he most likely stayed awake waiting for her to get home and the thought makes her smile, because him, David, and her adopted mother Ruth are the only ones to have ever done that for her.

He offers her a slice of pepperoni pizza and she takes it, scooching over so that he can sit down next to her. She eats half the pizza by herself (a stakeout doesn't always leave much time for food), pointedly ignoring Killian's amused expression.

"Rough day, Swan?"

Emma snorts. "That's an understatement. I feel like shit."

Killian's brow furrows and he presses a hand against her forehead. "You're not catching a cold, are you?"

She doesn't answer, simply looks at him and waits for him to catch on. It takes him a few minutes, and Emma can see when he makes the realization because his eyes widen and his mouth twitches into a sympathetic grimace.

"Ah. I see," Killian says, standing up to put the pizza in the fridge.

Emma lets her head fall back onto the armrest of the couch, arm flung over her eyes to block out the light. "Yeah. The scumbag decided to run and in the process of tackling him, I ruined one of my jackets and a pair of my jeans, _and_ got cramps afterward." She's not usually one to complain, but she's having an awful day and Killian always tells her it's bad to keep everything bottled up.

She smells the hot chocolate before she sees it, reaching out to take it from Killian with a tired smile. There's a glass of water and some painkillers to go with it, and she's so overwhelmed with the feeling of someone taking care of her that she starts tearing up.

(She blames the hormones.)

Killian, bless him, doesn't acknowledge the fact that she's crying, other than wrapping a blanket around her and tugging on a lock of her hair. This happens every time she has a cold or is on her period, but Killian knows better than to talk to her about it.

"You've had quite the day, Swan," Killian says, lifting her feet so that he can sit down.

Her laugh is the watery kind and she presses the palms of her hands to her eyes to prevent the tears from sliding down her cheeks. "Indeed I have."

It's stupid, Emma thinks, to feel so sentimental about a leather jacket, but that had been the first significant thing she purchased with her own money and it lasted her since she was eighteen. It was tangible armor, something that made her feel strong, capable to do anything and everything.

Now it's gone.

Her pitiful sniffle is drowned out by the opening credits of _The Princess Bride_ , but that doesn't stop Killian from giving her calf a comforting squeeze. Emma swings her legs around, her feet coming to hang off the armrest and her head resting on Killian's chest. She will never say it aloud, but this is her favorite way to watch movies.

Emma's terrible day is soon forgotten as they compete to see who can remember the most lines from the movie, her punching his arm when he wins and him tweaking her nose when she does.

She is so, so grateful to have a best friend like Killian in her life.

"You're not such bad company yourself," Killian says, and Emma is grateful for the darkness of her living room as she flushes bright red.

She can make out Killian's grin in the light from the TV and sheepishly smiles back.

"Is that my shirt?" Killian asks, eyebrow raised as he pulls on her sleeve. "The one I let you borrow what, before we even graduated?"

Emma hums in confirmation, her small smile growing into a cheeky one the longer Killian stares at her in indignation.

"Are you ever going to give it back?"

"No," she says, turning her attention back to the movie.

She hears him mumbling something about a _bloody stubborn lass_ and smacks him in the face with a pillow, her eyes never leaving the TV.

* * *

Emma just knows she's going to be late to game night. It's Killian's fault, really, because she let him borrow her phone charger and now she can't find the infernal thing anywhere. She can't borrow one from David or Mary Margaret - stupid Samsung users - and if Killian had his, he wouldn't need to use hers all the time. Normally she'd have given up the search after the first couple minutes, but her phone is at two percent and she's waiting for a followup from a lead, which is why she's running around her apartment with one shoe on and the other in her hand with her phone.

She tears her room apart because while she doesn't have the same incessant need to be early that Mary Margaret does, it's kind of embarrassing to be the last one to game night when you only have to travel a flight of stairs to get there.

In her haste, Emma pulls open the drawer of her nightstand with more force than usual, and leaps back in surprise when the entire thing comes flying out, along with her charger.

Her nightstand is ruined, but at least she has her charger.

A quick glance at her phone - one percent now, _Jesus_ \- lets her know that she barely has a minute to spare before she's supposed to be at Killian's apartment, so she doesn't spare much time looking at her useless piece of furniture, pausing only to lock up her apartment as she leaves.

* * *

When Killian lets himself into his apartment, Milah right behind him, he has to take a step back to avoid being backhanded.

Emma's talking to Mary Margaret animatedly, hands flying as she retells a story of a flying nightstand drawer, if he's hearing correctly. She doesn't know he's here yet (although she should, because the hinges on the door creak obscenely loudly) and he uses that to his advantage, wrapping her in a bear hug and effectively pinning her arms to her sides.

Milah laughs from over his shoulder, kissing his cheek as she joins David in setting up _Clue_. Their relationship has improved phenomenally since their talk all those weeks ago, with Killian making more of an effort to integrate Milah into their friend group and Milah trying harder to create her own memories and inside jokes with them.

It's new and difficult, being in a serious relationship, but Killian finds that it's the kind of challenge he likes.

Emma's elbow connects with his rib and Killian takes that as his cue to let go, hip checking her and giving Mary Margaret an affectionate peck on the cheek.

"Evening, ladies. What's the cause of all this waving about?"

"My goddamn nightstand broke," Emma sighs, pursing her mouth and folding her arms across her chest. She looks so much like a pouty child that Killian is tempted to resolve her problems with an ice cream cone (which, to be fair, is sometimes the solution for one of her bad days).

"Tough luck, Swan. Making a trip to IKEA tomorrow?" Killian asks. He has a lunch date with Milah planned, but he can join Emma for furniture hunting after.

"No, I was thinking I'd go to this new place by the office during my lunch break," Emma says. "They're having this grand opening sale that I thought I'd take advantage of."

"Perhaps Leroy can assist you during the selection process," Killian suggests, unable to keep a straight face as he does so. Emma's co-worker Leroy is notorious for his bad taste in, well, everything, and the mere thought of him in a furniture store is terrifying.

Emma snorts and shakes her head, not deigning his comment with a response. Killian bumps his shoulder against hers repeatedly as they make their way to the couch, laughing a little too loudly when she almost trips attempting to retaliate and he has to catch her.

* * *

When Emma first walks up to the store, she has to double check to make sure it's open. It's mostly empty, save for a few employees wandering around. Several of them walk up to her, all too eager to help the only customer in the store. She mutters _just browsing_ five times, because stumbling around trying to find what she's looking for is better than having an employee tell her that this nightstand is made out of authentic bamboo imported from a tiny mountain village in China and that the price is a steal for the actual value.

By the time Emma finds a nightstand that she wouldn't mind having in her bedroom indefinitely, her patience is wearing thin and all she can think about is a grilled cheese from Granny's. She probably should have grabbed something to eat before her trip to _Sofa So Good_ (cute, although she hasn't seen a sofa yet) but it's too late now and at least she's found what she was looking for.

The slightly clumsy cashier has just started ringing her up when someone in a suit - the owner, Emma guesses - offers to take care of this particular purchase.

Emma's first reaction is to roll her eyes, but the man doesn't seem creepy. He has kind, honest eyes, and his grin is infectious.

He introduces himself as Walsh and cuts straight to the chase, asking if she wants to have coffee sometime in the foreseeable future. Emma is tempted to say no, but when she tries to figure out what's holding her back, she can't. Walsh is nice, funny, and just the right side of flirtatious. There's a confidence about him that she likes, one that's apparent but not arrogant. He laughs at all of her wry comments and seems to appreciate her sarcasm, so she accepts his offer and his phone number.

She's always been a sucker for well dressed guys.

Walsh helps her get the nightstand into her Bug and the smile he gives her as they say goodbye may or may not induce butterflies in her stomach.

It's been a long time since that's happened, and Emma likes the feeling.

She wants to tell someone about Walsh, and it makes sense for that someone to be her best friend, but for some reason Emma can't bring herself to pick up her phone and call Killian. She's not sure if things will work out between her and Walsh, and she doesn't want to get anyone's hopes up.

That's what she tells herself, anyway.

Emma's never kept a secret from Killian before, not really, so not telling him about her date with Walsh has her overcome with guilt. It only gets worse when she gets back to her office and finds that Killian's stopped by and dropped off a grilled cheese (with onion rings).

There's a neon yellow post-it stuck to the brown paper bag and a ridiculous cartoon drawing of a tombstone that reads _Here lies Emma's old nightstand. Cause of death: the frantic search for a phone charger. R.I.P._ There's an odd assembly of grapes, apples, and pears sketched towards the bottom, and below that, more of Killian's neat handwriting.

 _Hope your search was_ _**fruitful**_ _Swan._

If Emma grins a little too wide and her butterflies make a sudden reappearance, no one needs to know.

* * *

 **Review?**


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Wow this took forever. No worries - I have no intention of abandoning this story. Life just got in the way._

* * *

Her first date with Walsh goes surprisingly well. He's smart, careful not to pry too much into a subject Emma's not ready to talk about, letting her open up on her own and determine where the conversation goes. He's a little goofy but it's endearing, and Emma finds herself smiling more and more throughout the date. She needs to tell someone about Walsh, because she thinks she could really start to like him, and the thought is terrifying and thrilling all at once.

Emma's eating lunch with Mary Margaret the day after her date and she must be fidgeting more than usual because once the waiter leaves with their order, Mary Margaret places her hand on her arm.

"Are you okay? You seem really jumpy," Mary Margaret says, frowning slightly and eyes filled with maternal concern. (She's always been this way, taking care of others whether they want it or not.)

"I went on a date yesterday," Emma blurts out. Mary Margaret's hands fly to her mouth (she can't blame her) and Emma feels her cheeks turn red.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to seem so shocked but...wow. Emma, that's great!"

Emma can tell Mary Margaret is trying her best not to ask a million questions at once and gets an odd sense of relief at being able to talk to someone about Walsh who will be genuinely interested.

"What's his name?" Mary Margaret asks, her excitement palpable as she leans forward, chin in her hands and elbows on the table as she waits for Emma's answer.

Emma smiles and launches into the full story of how she met Walsh, not noticing how Mary Margaret's grin grows wider and wider the longer she talks. Emma surprises herself with how much she has to say about someone she's known for a day, but she thinks it's a good sign.

She hopes it is.

There's something akin to understanding in Mary Margaret's eyes when Emma falters for a moment, her mind flashing back to fleeting kisses in a busy hallway and lingering ones against lockers, late night drives in her Bug and loud laughter breaking the silence of a sleepy town. She shakes her head and forces herself to lock those memories back up, tucked away where they can no longer hinder her.

She's never been one to dwell on the past, and she's not about to start now.

"Are you guys going to go on a second date?"

Emma nods slowly, Walsh's text inquiring about the very same thing burned into her mind. "I think so, yeah."

Mary Margaret covers Emma's hand with her own, giving it a gentle squeeze accompanied by an even gentler smile.

"I'm really happy for you, Emma. Walsh sounds like a great guy."

"He is," Emma says, and she means it.

"Let's go shopping, find you something for your next date." Mary Margaret's smirk and eyebrow raise are an incredible mimic of Killian's and she only maintains both for a few seconds before Emma laughs so hard she snorts.

They go home with a few bags each and Mary Margaret stops by Emma's apartment to see her new nightstand, unable to stop herself from wrapping Emma in a tight hug as she leaves.

* * *

Emma holds off on telling Killian about Walsh. She breaks the news to David when she arrives early to game night one week, and he reacts exactly the same as Mary Margaret with just a hint more protectiveness. She waits for the cliche older brother spiel about pummeling Walsh if he ever hurts her and letting him know if she ever needs anything and David doesn't disappoint. Still, he's proud of her for putting herself out there again and he's happy that she's happy.

Emma likes to imagine that Killian will follow in David's footsteps when she finally introduces the concept of Walsh to him, but deep down she knows that his reaction will not be what she wants.

So she puts it off until she can't anymore.

Milah is staring at her a little too intently as she trails Killian into Emma's apartment. Emma's laying on the couch with a box of tissues in her lap and two different kinds of cough drops on the coffee table, blanket pulled up to her chin despite the fact that it's the middle of June and over eighty degrees outside. While Milah has a sympathetic smile on her face that seems sincere enough, it's obvious that she'd rather be anywhere but in Emma's living room.

"Hey, love. Dave told me you were feeling poorly but I didn't expect you to look so shitty."

Emma's glare is halfhearted at best because Killian is carrying a takeout bag that can only be from Granny's and only be for her.

"Thanks, Jones. You sure know how to charm a girl."

Even Milah snorts at that, impatience momentarily forgotten as Killian sends a wounded look her way.

"I'd like to remind you, love, that I had no trouble charming _you_ ," Killian informs her with a disdainful sniff. Milah pats his arm comfortingly, nodding along as she tries to suppress her laughter. "Emma, tell her how charming I was in high school."

"Oh, yeah, he had ladies lining up outside the biology classroom," Emma deadpans. "His lab goggles brought all the girls to the yard."

"You're lucky you're ill, Swan," Killian scoffs, his tone more teasing than anything.

"Is there chicken noodle soup in that bag?" Emma asks hopefully, sitting up a little and checking her phone only to see a couple texts from Walsh and twice as many from Killian. Her thumb twitches over the latest message from Walsh, one filled with so much concern that she allows herself to smile.

"No, chickpea. Your favorite." At Emma's scandalized expression, Killian laughs and opens the bag so she can clearly see the container of chicken noodle soup. "I'm merely jesting, love." (Chickpea is actually Milah's favorite, but he knows Emma doesn't care to know that, despite both women making a considerable effort to get along.)

Killian brings the food into the kitchen and Emma follows, focused on figuring out how to reply to Walsh as she stares at her phone intently. She bumps into Killian's shoulder blade when he stops at the counter, rubbing her forehead but not pausing as she slides onto one of the stools, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. She doesn't pay much attention when Killian peers over the top of her phone to see who she's texting, until she remembers that she hasn't yet told him about Walsh and jerks her phone to her body.

This time, Killian's wounded expression is not feigned, and Emma feels the now familiar guilt that she only associates with him bubble up in her chest.

"Swan? What are you hiding from me?"

Milah has her own phone right in front of her face as she pretends to do something important on it, but Emma has a sneaking suspicion that she's playing Candy Crush as she eavesdrops.

"Who's this Walsh fellow and why do you feel the need to keep him a secret?"

Emma swears Milah's ears perk up at Killian's question, her gaze snapping to Emma before going back to her phone. She's anticipating Emma's answer as much as Killian, but at least she's attempting to be subtle.

"Just someone I've started seeing recently. I thought it was too recent to start announcing it," Emma says cautiously, her nonchalant shrug and small smile betraying how important this _someone_ is.

Awkward silence ensues as Killian openly gapes at her, jaw twitching when he finally snaps his jaw shut.

"Emma, that's fantastic!" Milah pipes up, either oblivious to Killian's reaction or all too aware (Emma would bet the latter).

Killian swallows hard and forces himself to smile. Emma wants to apologize, but she doesn't know what she would be apologizing for - she doesn't know what she's done wrong to cause her best friend any pain.

He doesn't say much about Walsh, pausing as he leaves to tell her to get well soon. He leans over to kiss her forehead, the way he's done so many times before, but seems to think better of it and gives her hand a simple squeeze, ushering Milah out the door as fast as he can.

Emma doesn't know how she expected Killian to react to her newfound love interest but she certainly didn't think he'd run away. She starts to send a text to him asking to talk about it before pouring some soup into a bowl, her phone glaring insistently at her as she leaves it on the counter and goes back to the couch, the half-typed message abandoned but not forgotten.

* * *

Killian's back at Emma's apartment the very next day. Without classes to go to, he's been spending a lot of time with either her or Milah, but Milah has a summer internship at her father's office that keeps her occupied during the week (he doesn't know who resents that more, his girlfriend or him). He feels terribly about the way he acted the night before, leaving without properly taking care of his best friend. The image of Emma with a red nose and wide eyes and practically swimming in his college sweatshirt had been haunting him since he'd bolted out of her apartment, so he had descended the flight of stairs between her floor and his as soon as he woke up.

"Seriously, _Mom_ , I'm fine," Emma says, batting away Killian's attempts to take her temperature. He rolls his eyes and presses his cheek to her forehead anyways, frowning when he feels just how warm she is.

"Swan, you're burning up."

He spends the rest of the day mothering her, even consulting Mary Margaret on the best ways to get rid of Emma's symptoms as soon as possible. He makes a quick trip to the convenience store for some popsicles at Mary Margaret's suggestion, taking care to pick the box with Emma's favorite flavors and grabbing a few extra boxes of Kleenex because he's sure he's never seen someone blow their nose so much in his life.

"Sick girlfriend?" the cashier asks, noting the decongestant medicine and Killian's relative health.

"Best friend," Killian corrects absentmindedly. When the employee's assumption registers, the tips of his ears turn bright red, and he hurries out of the store, reminding himself that he would do the same for Milah, should she ever fall prey to the same germs Emma seems prone to.

Emma zones in on his blush right away, questioning him persistently until he presents her with the popsicles, her inquiries turning into a quiet _thank you_. He smiles and tucks her blanket around her closer, tutting at the mess of her apartment and tidying up without being asked (she never asks). Killian stays long after Emma has dozed off, reading a book and periodically changing the cool washcloth on her forehead. David texts him, offering to take a shift of _Emma duty_ , as he so eloquently puts it. Killian is tempted - he's been here for hours and could use a nap. One look at Emma, eyes closed and breathing slightly irregular, makes Killian's decision for him, and he tells his roommate thanks but no thanks, he's got this.

Killian knows he's made the right choice when Emma wakes up not long after, brow furrowed until she sees him sitting in her recliner reading _To Kill a Mockingbird_ and she relaxes, burrowing further under her blanket and going right back to sleep. When she wakes up again, Killian has more of Granny's soup waiting for her, and by the end of the day she feels infinitely better.

She doesn't voice that out loud, though, because Killian has just suggested watching Star Wars and who is she to pass up Leia and Han Solo?

* * *

 **Review?**


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Another long period between updates. Sorry guys._

* * *

Although it's been two weeks since she told Killian about Walsh, he hasn't said a word. There have been no questions, no joking threats to dismember him if he hurts her, no badgering her to let Walsh meet the gang. It's as if to Killian, Emma isn't in a relationship at all.

She tries to get Killian to talk about it. She mentions Walsh at game nights, Mary Margaret and Ruby peppering her with questions while David pretends to act like he doesn't approve. Even Milah asks when she's going to introduce them to Walsh, but every time his name is brought up, Killian conveniently disappears.

Emma figures her best friend ignoring her boyfriend's very existence can't be healthy, and when she brings it up with Mary Margaret, the brunette has to agree.

"Just talk to him, Emma," Mary Margaret says, browsing the sale rack for something that might be her size.

"I tried," Emma says, frustration coloring her voice. "Several times. He avoids that particular conversation like the plague."

"Maybe he's scared of losing you," Mary Margaret suggests, holding up a sweater in a way that covers her expression.

Emma frowns, tugging her friend's arm down until she can clearly see her face. Despite Mary Margaret's wide, innocent eyes, there's obviously something she's not saying.

"Mary Margaret," Emma says, eyebrows furrowing together, "what makes you say that?"

The other woman shrugs and places the hanger back on the rack. "Just...you know. When he first started dating Milah, you were kind of weird about it."

"But that's not what you were going to say."

"Talk to him," Mary Margaret repeats more firmly, her tone indicating the end of the conversation.

Emma knows Mary Margaret's right, but she's never been sure how to get someone to sit down and talk about a topic they so badly want to avoid. Her and Killian are very similar in that aspect - emotional one-on-ones are only acceptable if they're on their own terms. She thinks about all the times Killian forced her to confront her own feelings and sighs, because while she resented his refusal to let her run away at the time, she can't deny that being honest with him never failed to make her feel better. She supposes Killian is due for a taste of his own medicine.

"Fine," Emma says, effectively changing the subject when she asks Mary Margaret for her opinion on the dress a nearby mannequin is showcasing.

When Emma gets back to her apartment, she seriously considers emptying a bottle of rum in an attempt at liquid courage. There's a voice that sounds eerily like Mary Margaret telling her not to, though, so she settles for hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and cinnamon instead. She (probably) wants to be sober when she confronts Killian.

She calls him and he picks up on the first ring. (He always picks up on the first ring.)

"Swan! Long time no talk," Killian says, cheerful laugh loud and uninhibited.

She's been texting him since she woke up.

"Hello to you too, dork." Emma hopes he can hear her eye roll in her tone and knows he can. "You free?"

"Sure. You home?"

"Yeah, finally," Emma snorts. Five hours worth of shopping with Mary Margaret and one bag to show for it. (Most of her purchases were food.)

"Then I'll be there in just a minute."

Emma hangs up and starts her stopwatch.

"Twenty eight seconds," she calls out when Killian opens the door. "Nice time, Jones. Where's the fire?"

"Oh, you know me. I'm simply dying to hear you regale the adventures of shopping with Mary Margaret," Killian says, grinning over his shoulder as he grabs a beer from her fridge.

Emma humors him, telling him all about the overzealous woman who nearly elbowed her in the face while talking to a salesperson, the old lady who wouldn't stop yelling at a car who was trying to turn left out of the parking lot, and the amazing new pretzel place inside the mall. He adopts a scandalized expression ( _you didn't get one for me?)_ and makes her promise to take him back to get a pretzel before he lets her continue.

"I did get some cute stuff, though," Emma says, hoping she can prompt a response alluding to Walsh from Killian.

"I can't imagine you buying anything else," he replies instead with a cheeky smile.

"Okay, Killian, what's going on?"

"Whatever are you talking about, Swan?" Killian asks, for all his part the clueless best friend, but there's a slight hesitation in his question and his fingers twitch, and Emma knows he's resisting the urge to scratch his ear.

"When David first started dating Mary Margaret, you wouldn't shut up about it. You asked him questions _all the time_. But now I have a boyfriend and it's like you want to pretend he doesn't even exist," Emma says, allowing some of her hurt to become apparent as she crosses her arms over her chest. "What gives?"

Killian squirms - actually squirms - and Emma reminds herself to be patient, the way he always is with her.

"Ah. It's rather strange is all," Killian says offhandedly.

Emma takes a deep breath (even going so far as to count to ten) before she lets herself speak. "Strange in what way?" she asks, and is a little too proud of herself for sounding so calm.

"I just don't want you to get hurt." There's a shrug to go with the sentiment, but Killian doesn't seem inclined to elaborate, so Emma takes what she can get.

"Killian, I am perfectly capable to take care of myself," Emma says, her words lacking their usual bite when David and Killian are being (in her mind) stupidly overprotective. "I learned my lesson with Neal."

"Good, because you deserve more than scum like him, Emma."

Emma nods and takes one of Killian's hands in her own, her smile a hopeful, slight thing. "I know."

That's all Killian needs to hear, and then he's asking all the questions Emma's been waiting for since she started dating Walsh, but she has to cut him off when he broaches sex because some things are better left unsaid.

(Emma never notices how Killian's smile falters as she talks about her second chance at a happy ending.)

* * *

"Emma?"

Emma's head snaps up at the sound of her name, Walsh's eyes searching her face with concern across the table.

"Sorry, I just zoned out for a second."

"Are you okay?" Walsh asks, his hand covering hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. It's a big step for them (her), this tiny gesture of affection and comfort, and Emma has to remind herself to stay calm.

She likes Walsh, and she's not going to run. At least, that's what she told Killian, and Emma Swan always keeps her word.

"Yeah, had a stressful week is all," Emma says. She musters a smile and that's enough for Walsh, whose expression relaxes into a smile of his own. She tries not to think about how quickly Killian would've caught her lie.

"I'd love to hear about it."

"Really?" Emma asks, then blushes as she hears the surprise in her tone. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that - okay, um, well, my friends keep badgering me to let them meet you, but trust me, I'm doing you a favor. They'll settle down once they get used to the idea but if I let you meet them now it'd be a shit show and I'm not gonna force you to do that."

A little hand holding already seems like a big step to Emma. Meeting her friends? Gargantuan.

Emma should give Walsh more credit, because he's far more perceptive than she likes to think. He hesitates and trips over his next few words, stumbling and mumbling his way through his sentence.

"I wouldn't mind meeting your friends. If you don't, of course. I'd like to, actually. They sound great and I'd love to get to know them. If you want me to. It's up to you."

Emma has a tendency to get annoyed with people who babble, but with Walsh, it's a little cute and a whole lot endearing. It's nice to know Walsh likes her enough to be nervous about meeting her friends and making a good impression and it makes taking this huge step less foreboding.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. I want to get to know the people who are important to you."

"Okay...let me warn you now. David will be extremely overprotective, Mary Margaret might even cry, Ruby won't stop making sex jokes all night, Killian will be...I don't know, Killian will either be overprotective or he'll try to bond with you, there's no telling which it'll be. If Elsa's there, she'll seem really nice at first and then she'll interrogate you later, and Tink - don't ask about her name, you'll regret it - will straight up threaten you and once she's done with that she'll be an angel and I'm the one babbling now, aren't I?"

Walsh's laugh is just shy of being too loud, but it's infectious and Emma can't help joining in.

"Yes, but it was cute," Walsh says, grin wide.

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you a couple minutes ago."

"Great minds think alike."

Emma's giggle is more girlish than she'd care to admit and she thanks all the deities she can remember that Killian isn't there to witness it.

* * *

"I was thinking it might be time to let you guys met Walsh and was wondering if-"

Mary Margaret lets out a shriek before anyone can stop her, David's hands snaking around to cover her mouth so Emma can finish her sentence.

"If you guys wanted to go to the Rabbit Hole on Saturday," Emma says slowly, waiting to see if Mary Margaret will interrupt her again with her uncontainable excitement.

Mary Margaret nods enthusiastically, unperturbed by David's hold on her in her glee.

"We'll be there," David says, dropping his hands to his girlfriend's shoulders.

"I'm so excited!" Mary Margaret squeals.

"Really?"

"We hadn't noticed," Emma pipes up, her smirk matching David's perfectly.

"I'm too happy to reprimand you for your sarcasm," Mary Margaret says, lifting her chin for barely a second before she grabs Emma's hands and spins her around the living room of David's apartment. "Oh I can't believe we're finally meeting Walsh!"

"So whose idea was it? His or yours?" David raises an eyebrow in silent challenge, and Emma resists the urge to childishly stick her tongue out at him.

"It was an adult decision made by both of us," Emma informs him, sitting on the couch so that Mary Margaret can't drag her around and tugging on her friend's arm to get her to sit down too.

"He brought it up and you reluctantly agreed," David guesses.

"I'm not going to respond to that," Emma says, turning on the TV with a pointed look at her adopted brother.

David shrugs, unabashed, and ruffles her hair before settling on the arm of the couch closest to Mary Margaret, who is very obviously trying (and failing) not to make a big deal out of Emma's news.

Killian passes by drying his hair with a towel, pausing to flick Emma's ear lightly by way of greeting.

"What's all the commotion?" Killian asks, unceremoniously dropping the towel on Emma's head. "I do believe I heard screaming earlier."

"You heard right," Emma snorts, rolling her eyes at Mary Margaret's sheepish smile.

"Emma's finally letting us meet Walsh!" Mary Margaret announces, clapping her hands together.

Killian freezes and Emma frowns, reaching out to tug on his sleeve to get him to look at her. Mary Margaret bumps David's elbow with hers, both of them zoning in on the TV in a way too focused to be natural.

"That's great," Killian says, and this time there's no mistaking how forced his smile is compared to Mary Margaret's.

* * *

 **Review?**


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Very, very sorry for the sudden disappearance. Hopefully back and here to stay._

* * *

Walsh hadn't expected Killian to be, well, hot.

Whenever Emma talked about her best friend from high school who helped her with thermochemistry and limits, Walsh had imagined some sort of computer science geek with glasses and a hunched back. He hadn't expected Killian to be four inches taller than him and _British_.

That is just unfair.

Walsh is no fool. He knows what accents can do to people of the opposite sex, what kind of feelings could develop for an attractive best friend over time. Killian is no fool either, immediately taking up the task of intimidating Walsh to the best of his ability.

"So. You're dating Emma," Killian says, a jovial smile plastered onto his face that is both charming and menacing at the same time.

"So. You're Emma's best friend," Walsh counters with a smile similar to Killian's.

"Indeed I am. I take it you know where this conversation is headed, then?" It's not an actual question and both men know it, but they continue to smile (grimace) at each other because Emma is not being subtle in watching their first meeting and neither is Mary Margaret.

"Indeed I do."

"Perfect, that saves us some time." Killian's grin can only be described as wolfish and Walsh involuntarily takes a step back in the crowded bar.

A brunette slips her arm around Killian's waist and leans into him, looking up at him with the same kind of adoration Walsh knows he looks at Emma with, and some of his worry fades.

"Hi, you must be Walsh. I'm Milah. It's so nice to meet you."

It's the first genuine smile Walsh has received since Mary Margaret (David tried, but he had the overprotective brother act down pat) and he welcomes it with open arms.

They make small talk for a while, until Milah and Walsh find common ground in the form of an obsession with European history and Killian slips back to the bar.

"You didn't have to be so intimidating, you know," Emma says, her disapproving tone greatly conflicting with the smile playing on her lips and the arch of her eyebrows.

"It's not my fault he scares easily," Killian replies with a cheeky grin, leaning towards Emma with an elbow on the countertop. "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets."

Emma rolls her eyes and taps her knuckles against Killian's. "I'm starting to think you have favorite catchphrases."

Chuckling, Killian manages to intertwine his fingers with Emma's and gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "If it helps any, I don't think I scared him away. It seems as though he's in it for the long haul, so I'll play nice, if it means so much to you."

"It does," Emma says, her reciprocating squeeze a wordless _thank you_ as she lets her hand fall away from Killian's. His eyes follow the motion and so do Mary Margaret's, but Emma is walking towards Walsh before either of them has the chance to say anything.

"You really don't like Walsh, huh?" Mary Margaret asks. The question is innocent enough, but Killian picks his words with extreme care.

"No but I don't imagine Dave does either."

"David pretending not to approve of Walsh is very different from you disliking him."

"While I appreciate your concern, love, I'm afraid it's misplaced. My dislike of Walsh stems from the same roots as Dave's."

"If you say so," Mary Margaret mutters under her breath, dropping the subject and turning back to her martini.

"I'll choose to ignore that comment," Killian says cheerfully, grabbing two beers and following Emma.

* * *

It's been about two weeks since that night at the bar and even though they live one floor apart, the only time Killian sees Emma is during group hangouts. He doesn't start to get suspicious until her texts become less frequent, him always chasing after even a one word reply (and he hates those more than anything). He tries his best not to worry because he knows Emma wouldn't appreciate that, but even Milah has noticed Emma's absence.

"Did you guys get in a fight?" Milah asks, genuine concern coloring her voice. They've come a long way from constant squabbles about his relationship with Emma.

"Not that I'm aware of, unless I did something to make her upset without realizing it," Killian replies, brows furrowing as he attempts to focus on the movie they're watching.

"It just doesn't seem like Emma to disappear without a trace," Milah adds warily, her eyes scanning Killian's face for a response.

"No, it doesn't," is all Killian says, mouth tight.

Milah drops the subject and feigns ignorance when Killian pulls out his phone to shoot Emma a text.

 **Swan, why are you avoiding me?**

For the first time in weeks, he doesn't have to wait up to three hours for a text back. Her reply is almost immediate.

 _It's 2:31 AM. Why are you even up?_

 **I'd like to point out that you're the one still on her phone. Now answer my question. Why are you avoiding me?**

 _I'm not._

It's a lie and they both know it, and the only thing stopping Killian from barging into Emma's apartment is Milah. He so very rarely gets angry with Emma that he almost doesn't recognize the feeling, and it's not one he's comfortable with.

"Killian, you're obviously distracted and the movie is boring anyways. I think I'm gonna head back to my place," Milah sighs.

He knows he should protest, make an effort to get her to stay, but he just wants to be alone with his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, love. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"I know you will," Milah says with small smile, kissing him quickly before making her way out the door.

Killian is lying in bed for all of two minutes when his thoughts start screaming at him to confront Emma. He wants nothing more than to see his best friend and have a conversation with her that lasts more than five minutes, but he's feeling rather petulant and is tired of making an effort when all she does is resist.

He immediately feels terrible because he would never even think of giving up on Emma Swan, no matter the circumstances, and is out of his apartment before he knows it.

* * *

Emma's been staring at her last text to Killian for the past five minutes because she knows he saw it and he's never left her on seen before, not without one of them ending the conversation with a proper goodbye. Even in the midst of dead week, Killian would let her know when she could expect another reply.

She can't be mad, though, especially when it's her fault.

In truth, she's been a terrible friend lately. She knows she's been neglecting Killian, as well as acting like the world's biggest hypocrite. After all, Emma is fully aware of what it's like to suddenly have your best friend disappear on you, and this time, it's her that's done the disappearing.

She really likes Walsh, but he doesn't seem to like Killian.

Or rather, Walsh is uncomfortable with Killian's role in Emma's life. They had the "official" talk a week or so ago, and their relationship was getting serious surprisingly fast. Walsh had a way of breaking down Emma's walls subtly and effectively, and Emma would be lying if she said she didn't like the security he brought. During the talk, though, Walsh mentioned that he wanted to be the person up front and center in her life, and she had to respect that.

Things were different now, but she didn't have to be a jerk about it.

Emma would _never_ blame Killian for her relationship problems with Neal because while he was at the heart of many of their disagreements, they were never his fault. Still, after a certain number of fights about the same thing, Emma had to wonder if some of Neal's points weren't so idiotic after all - she dismisses the thought immediately because if there's one thing she's sure of, it's that Neal was a complete moron.

Moronic or not, Emma didn't want Walsh to feel as though they had to argue about Killian.

She's starting to get used to feeling like a terrible person. Walsh is so very different from Neal, but she's already attributing Neal's worst traits to her new boyfriend.

She's so deep in thought that she doesn't hear her front door opening and closing firmly, nor does she register the sound of footsteps down her hallway. (Looking back, it's moments like these that make her think she's an absolute shit of a bail bondsperson.)

"Enough with the lies, Swan. Why are you avoiding me? Before it was Milah, and, granted, that was partially my fault, but I can't think of anything that would make you avoid my presence like the bloody plague," Killian barks, the harsh tone of his voice cutting through the silence in her room like a knife.

Emma can't remember the last time he's spoken to her like this, probably because he never has.

Then again, she's never been such a terrible friend to him before.

To her utter embarrassment, Emma feels the stinging in her throat that warns her of incoming tears, and rubs her hands over her face before they can surface.

"I've got to be the worst person on the planet," she says numbly, hands still over her eyes.

"I can't say I'm apt to disagree, at the moment."

It stings, the bitterness in Killian's voice, but she knows it's well-deserved.

"I can't even begin to apologize for being MIA lately," Emma starts weakly. Words can't convey the amount of guilt she's suffering from, and she doesn't have Killian's impressive linguistic skills to assist her. She clears her throat and tries again. "There aren't any excuses for my behavior, especially after the conversations we had after you started dating Milah."

"Surely this hasn't been about that," Killian says, bemusement replacing his frustration, at least for now. "I thought we had resolved that ages ago."

"We did," Emma reassures him quickly. "We did, and you apologized. Profusely. I've just been a hypocrite as of late, it seems."

It takes a moment, but then again, Killian's always been the keener one between them.

"Is this about your new beau?"

Normally she would make fun of his choice of words, but nothing about this exchange is normal for them.

"Sort of, I guess. He's just not really comfortable with how much time we spend together," Emma sighs. "And I know that's a piss poor excuse, considering how you had God knows how many fights with Milah to stay friends with me, but I don't want what happened with Neal-" She bites back the words as soon as they leave her mouth, lips drawn in a tight line as she braces herself for the barrage of questions Killian's about to unleash.

He had begrudgingly smiled at Emma's unconscious use of his current favorite turn of phrase, but his smile quickly fades as he processes what she's said.

"What happened with Neal, Swan?"

She shuts her eyes tight, not wanting to see the kind of reaction she's about to elicit from Killian.

"Neal was never very happy with my friendship with you. Let's just say it was a point of contention many times throughout our relationship," Emma sighs. "There were a couple of times when he actually accused me of cheating."

Killian is quite obviously torn between indignation on Emma's behalf and his own anger towards her, but he's in the habit of taking her side.

"That's preposterous. He accused you of being anything less than loyal whilst you were together?"

She merely shrugs, because she spent years defending herself to Neal and she's more than tired of this topic of conversation.

"So you've been avoiding me to avoid fighting with Walsh about the same thing." It's not a question and they both know it, but Emma's eyes lock with his and she nods anyway.

Killian sighs and scratches the back of his neck. He's definitely still irritated, but it's a big improvement from outright furious with her.

"Swan, I'm sure you know this already because I'm rather certain you've said it to me at some point, but Walsh is not Neal," he enunciates the last few words carefully, eyes boring into hers. "Even if he's unsure about the same kinds of things - and who wouldn't be, seeing as I'm so devilishly handsome - that doesn't mean he'll act the same. If you want this relationship to go anywhere, you have to give him the chance to prove himself a better man than that arse."

Emma's never seen Killian so serious, and not for the first time in the past few months, she feels unbelievably stupid for not talking to him about this before.

"I'm sorry it took you barging into my room at three in the morning for me to realize how dumb I've been. I wouldn't forgive me," she mumbles, resisting the urge to fall back onto her bed and bury her face in her pillows to avoid looking at him.

"Yes, well, we established that I am the bigger person years ago," Killian says with a flippant wave of his hand.

"Still friends?" The question is little more than a whisper, her gaze dropping to where her hands are fisted in her sheets.

"You can't get rid of me that easily, Swan. I'm here to stay."

* * *

 **I'm here to stay too. Sorry again for a year between updates. Review anyway?**


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: I promise that Captain Swan is endgame, folks. All good things to those who wait._

* * *

A month passes, and while Emma and Killian try their best to go back to the way their friendship was before, there's something fundamentally different. There has never been a time when the two of them were both in healthy, stable relationships (Killian's love life mostly consisting of one night stands, and Emma's consisting of, well, Neal), and it's strange. Neither of them know how to manage it, not really, and it's hard to fit both a best friend and a significant other in with work and school, especially when the best friend and significant other in question aren't very fond of each other. They're trying, though, and hopefully that counts for something.

While the rest of their friends are eager to see Walsh again, Emma keeps him separate from their group, for the most part. Not because she doesn't love her friends and is against them getting to know Walsh, but because having to be careful around Killian is too damn difficult, where their friendship has alway been easy. Emma's used to running when things get hard, and it's taking every bit of her willpower to find a way to fight through this rough transition.

Work is a good distraction, and when the scumbag she's tailing gives her a fight, she almost relishes in it. She goes through the routine of handing the perp over to the police and filling out the regular paperwork before heading home, riding on the high of adrenaline. Emma feels good for the first time since Killian met Milah (not that she'd ever admit that was when she developed a strange pit in her stomach), but that feeling dissolves immediately when she unlocks her apartment door and sees Killian sitting on her couch.

On one hand, it's a relief. It's good to see him and if she's being honest with herself, she just wants to spend quality time with her best friend. On the other hand, the sight of her mildly disheveled looking partner in crime makes her dangerously aware of her growing anxiety.

"Hey, what's up?" Emma asks, making a pit stop in her room to change out of what Killian likes to call her agent uniform. "You haven't done a surprise drop by in forever."

She can hear Killian's sigh from down the hall and the distinct sound of a bottle (probably beer, probably from her fridge) being set down on her coffee table. "I don't know, love. Things are rather a mess with Milah at the moment."

"Mess how?" Emma surprises herself at how much work she has to put into sounding only mildly interested and is beyond grateful that Killian can't see how red her face is. She joins him in the living room, noting how his eyes flick to the shirt she's wearing (it's Walsh's, not his, for once) before going back to the beer in his hand. She settles onto the couch next to him, angling her body to face him.

"It appears as though she hasn't been exactly forthcoming with me about her past." Killian takes a deep breath and adds, "Or her present, for that matter."

"What do you mean?"

"Apparently, when we met at the pub, she was already in a very committed relationship with another man."

Emma blinks once, twice.

" _What_? So she was, what, using you to cheat?" Emma sputters, because while Killian has definitely broken more than a few hearts in his day, he had honor, and would never intentionally break up a relationship. The thought alone was probably killing him, and she can't help but feel indignant on his behalf.

Killian runs a hand over his face and God, she's never seen him look so tired.

"I don't know. It's complicated."

"That's an understatement." She winces at the sarcasm in her voice and squeezes Killian's hand in silent apology, taking their empty beer bottles to the kitchen to throw them away. She starts up the espresso maker - the real one, not her Keurig - and leans against the countertop. "Do you want to tell me more about it?"

"From what she's told me, it's a rather abusive relationship that she simply feels she cannot absolve. The man works for her father's company and is very high up, and she fears that ending her relationship with him will be detrimental for her family. I never expected the relationship I started with her in a bar would wind up so…"

"Complicated?" Emma offers, throwing Killian a sympathetic smile before turning her attention back to the coffee.

"That seems to be the word of the evening," Killian scoffs, and his chuckle reminds her of when he used to tell her about all the kids that made fun of him for being so good in school, trying to maintain a good sense of humor about the situation but not quite managing. An old sense of protectiveness rises up in her, because while Killian has always been able to put up a good front, she has always been able to see right through him.

"Do you think you guys are going to work things out?" Emma asks, setting a cup of freshly brewed coffee in front of Killian.

"I'm not sure yet. I thought - I don't know what I thought." Killian pauses and glances down at her attempt at latte art, his head tilting to the side. "Swan, what in the devil is that blob in my coffee?"

Emma can't help but roll her eyes. "I was _trying_ to make a duck. I obviously did not succeed."

"I'll say."

"Hey, I tried, okay?"

The corner of Killian's mouth quirks up and it's the first genuine smile Emma's seen from him all night. She bumps her shoulder against his, her head resting in the crook of his neck.

"What are you going to do?"

"I wish I knew, love. I wish I knew."

"Mm. I gotta tell you, Jones...I got nothing."

Killian snorts and tilts his head until it's against hers. "Me either, Swan. What a bloody shit show."

"Drink the coffee I made you."

"The one with the blob?"

"This is the last time I do something nice for you."

"I don't think making a subpar latte counts as doing something especially nice. But I appreciate the thought all the same."

Emma lasts a solid five minutes before she brings Milah up again.

"Do you want to talk about it now?"

"Not particularly, darling, no."

"Wanna get hammered?"

She feels Killian shake his head ever so slightly on top of hers and shifts a little closer to him. While she's never been a particularly affectionate person, she knows physical comfort (of the most innocent kind) helps Killian best when he's truly feeling down.

"I never thought we'd see the day where I was the talkative one," Emma remarks thoughtfully.

"Trust me, Swan, if there's one thing I've learned about you over seven years of friendship, it's that you never run out of things to say."

* * *

The next morning, Emma decides to cook. She's fairly pleased with herself for even coming up with the idea to turn on her stove and try to make something edible before she realizes something rather important.

She can't remember the last time she cooked anything.

Normally, Killian is the one doing the cooking in her apartment. Occasionally Mary Margaret or David give him a break, but Emma certainly never has. She spends ten minutes trying to find a skillet, because Killian organized her kitchen to his own specific taste a couple months after she moved in and she hasn't bothered trying to rearrange it. She'd hate to mess up his system.

Emma's mildly surprised when Killian sleeps through the clanging of the pans and her rather loud, rather colorful swearing, but he's emotionally exhausted and the furrow between his eyebrows remains even in sleep.

She manages to make eggs, sausage, and toast without damaging herself or her apartment too badly. She does have to bandage a couple of her fingers, including one of her thumbs, but nothing catches on fire. For Emma, that's a victory in of itself.

"Did _you_ cook?" Killian's voice is rough from sleep and his hair is sticking up in every direction but there's no mistaking the disbelief behind his question.

"Shut up and eat. I have to get ready for work." Emma says the last part reluctantly, and she really can't picture leaving her best friend in this state.

"Of course. Life goes on, after all." He busies himself with poking at the plate she's made up for him and her heart breaks a little (not that she'd ever tell him that).

"How's the internship hunt going?" Emma asks instead. If there's one thing Killian Jones hates, it's pity directed towards him.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose. It's a rather competitive field after all."

"Are you going to make more calls today?"

"Don't worry, Swan. I won't wallow around the flat all day," Killian reassures her teasingly.

Emma's eyes search his for a moment before she allows herself to smile and tease him back. "Good."

Killian is a survivor, and she knows without a doubt that he will find a way to do the right thing by everyone involved. She also knows that she will be around to help him pick up the pieces afterwards.

Emma disappears into her room for a few minutes to change and when she comes out, Killian has a tumbler of iced coffee ready for her.

"Have I told you that you're the best?"

"Yes, but it never hurts to reaffirm a well known fact," Killian quips.

"Be good today." _Don't get drunk and do something you'll regret later_.

"I'll try my very best." _Stop worrying._

"I expect nothing less," Emma replies, already halfway to the door. Killian follows her out into the hallway and waits while she locks up her apartment before she turns to face him. She tilts her head to the side and he mimics her, eyebrows raising and smile mocking. Emma returns it with a smirk of her own and hugs him tight, and if she notices that Killian is a little reluctant to let go, she doesn't say anything.

* * *

"You would not believe the day I've had. First, we get the wrong shipments and ours get delivered all the way across town, then my _dad_ decides to drop in and see how the business is going, and - Emma, sweetheart, have you heard a word I've said?'

"What?" Emma blinks and refocuses on Walsh. "Oh, God, I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on with me today."

"You've been distracted for the past few days. Is everything okay?"

"Um, yeah. Work's just kind of been hell lately. You know Leroy, always being a pain in my ass," Emma says and hopes that Walsh can't tell just how forced her laugh is.

"Are you sure that's all?"

"Yeah." She's not.

"Do you want to tell me what's been going on? Come on, you can talk to me about anything."

Walsh reaches across the table to take her hand and he looks so damn sincere and she just feels so bad because how can she tell her boyfriend that she's not paying attention to him because she's worried about another guy?

"I'm sorry. I'm here, one hundred percent. What were you saying about your dad?"

"Never mind that. I actually want to talk to you about something else." She's witnessed Walsh fearlessly haggle with ridiculously persistent old ladies hell-bent on saving every cent they can but this is only the second time she's ever seen him nervous.

"I'm all ears," Emma says, leaning forward to rest her elbow on the table and prop her head up with her hand.

"Well, not talk to you about something, really. More like tell you something. Something kind of important."

"Walsh, babe, you're babbling." Most days, Emma finds quirks like this adorable, at least coming from Walsh. Today is not one of those days.

Walsh takes a deep breath. "Emma, I'm trying to be serious here."

"Right, um, sorry." She's not used to feeling chastised, but she knows she doesn't like it, especially when her boyfriend is the one doing the chastising. Emma's in the middle of figuring out just how annoyed she's entitled to be and she's pretty sure it's a lot when Walsh breaks through her internal reverie.

"Emma, I love you."

Oh.

* * *

 **Review?**


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Yikes...sorry y'all. Fighting to get back into the groove of things._

* * *

" _Emma, I love you."_

The words are still ringing in her ears. It's been a few days since Walsh's confession had left her reeling and Emma had muttered something about needing to leave, needing time, before rushing out of the restaurant without looking back. A big part of her feels incessantly guilty about not giving Walsh a proper reply, but the last time someone had told her he loved her, it had only ended in tears.

She knows this time is different, that Walsh is different, but she can't help but be scared.

Emma hasn't seen Walsh since that night. They've been exchanging texts, but the flirting and attempts at good conversation are half-hearted from both of them. Walsh had been extraordinarily understanding about the whole ordeal, and that only made Emma's guilt worse. How was their relationship supposed to move forward if she couldn't even hear him tell her he loved her, let alone say it back?

"Well, Emma, it sounds like you're letting your past experience with Neal hold you back from anything you might be able to have with Walsh," Elsa says, when Emma voices her concerns to the people she trusts most in matters of the heart - and Milah, because she was trying, she really was. Despite the fact that Milah and Killian were going through a rough patch, Emma still wanted to try, for his sake.

Emma looks around at her circle of friends, Elsa with her unfailing compassion and understanding for what Emma's been through, Tink with her no-nonsense logic and quick wit, Ruby with her sense of humor and an openness that continually dumbfounded Emma, Mary Margaret with her everlasting hope and optimism, and Milah with her...well, Emma was sure she offered something, even if she didn't know what that something was quite yet.

"Yeah, Em, I mean, I never thought I'd be able to move on from Peter until I met Dorothy," Ruby offers, uncharacteristically serious for once. "You just have to open yourself up to an entirely new experience."

Emma raises her eyebrows. "Ruby, I think you discovering that you're bi is a little different. Arguably more monumental, too."

"You're still opening yourself up to a new thing, a new person, though," Mary Margaret adds. "I know it's hard, especially for you, but you owe it to yourself to give this relationship with Walsh a real chance."

The others chime in, agreeing with Mary Margaret, but Milah remains contemplative, her eyes searching Emma's face.

"I think Mary Margaret's right, but don't rush into something you're not ready for," Milah says at last, her voice effortlessly cutting through the chatter. "It's not fair to you or Walsh if you push yourself to do or say something that you don't want to. It's also not a big deal if you don't tell him that you love him too."

Mary Margaret's eyes widen and her mouth opens to protest, but Tink chimes in before she gets the chance. "Milah's right. People fall in love at different paces. There's nothing wrong with waiting until you're sure to tell him you feel the same way."

"I guess it would be unfair if I said something I didn't mean before I was ready," Emma sighs. "What do I tell him, though? I've never been good with this stuff - the delicate, complicated stuff."

Milah laughs, and it's one of the first times Emma's ever felt a real connection with her. "Just tell him how you feel! Tell him you're not ready, but that doesn't mean you aren't happy with how your relationship is going, and you'll get there on your own time. If he's half as good a guy as I think he is, he'll understand."

"Yeah, you're right," Emma says, nodding. She offers Milah a shy but genuine smile. "Thanks, Milah."

Milah smiles back. "Anytime."

* * *

Emma's talk with Walsh goes surprisingly well - it shouldn't have been surprising, but considering that all of Emma's relationship experience involved Neal, her evaluation of normal relationship standards was a little skewed. Still, Walsh is amazingly understanding, and kind, and for maybe the second time in her life, Emma feels _lucky_ and _safe_.

It's nice. (It's way more than nice, but Emma's never been great with words.)

She starts incorporating Walsh into the group more. He gets along with Milah and Mary Margaret extremely well; the boys are more reluctant, especially Killian, but Emma figures that's something they'll have to get over on their own. She and Walsh make a freakishly good team, especially when it comes to Monopoly, but they're still not as good as Emma and Killian. (No one is.)

Walsh slowly becomes a part of their group, and Emma's joy at this shift doesn't go unnoticed by any of them.

"It's nice to see her so happy," Mary Margaret murmurs to David, the two of them tasked with preparing taco ingredients this week.

"I don't think I even saw her this happy with Neal, for all the years they were together," David whispers back. "It's different this time."

"Yeah," Mary Margaret says, smiling. "Walsh seems like a really great guy for her."

David grumbles a bit, for show, but Mary Margaret can tell that he agrees, and there's no mistaking how thrilled he is that Emma has finally found someone worthy.

Neither of them notice Killian lingering at the fridge, or the way his face falls when Emma laughs at something Walsh says and leans into him the same way she used to with Killian, and no one mentions the almost tangible tension between him and Milah.

* * *

"Killian? Are you okay?" Emma inquires, poking at his cheek with her pen. "You look so...pensive."

"I'm fine, Swan, really. Stop fretting." His smile is weak at best, and his tone lacks its usual humor.

"Is it Milah? Are you two still fighting? I thought you'd resolved things, or at least come to an agreement since she was at taco night," Emma says, her eyebrows furrowing together in concern.

Killian wrinkles his nose and stretches out on Emma's couch, his feet dangling off one of the arms. "I don't know. It's still a bit odd, but she says she's chosen me, and I have to believe her." It sounds more like a question than he'd care to admit, but Emma graciously lets it slide.

They sit in silence for a minute before Emma moves from her spot on the floor and nudges Killian's shoulder until he sits up long enough for her to readjust him to have his head on her lap. It's been a long time since they've been like this, but Emma notices how Killian relaxes almost immediately, and that's enough to make her ignore the small hint of guilt she feels at doing this with someone other than Walsh.

Emma's hand goes to Killian's hair automatically, and she chuckles at the way he practically _purrs_ when she scratches his scalp.

"Now tell me what's bugging you so much, Jones."

Killian sighs and shifts so that his shoulder blades aren't digging into Emma's thighs. "Milah and I are seemingly alright, I suppose, but the situation with her other paramor doesn't sit well with me."

"Well, have you talked with her about it? Again, I mean, and thoroughly? This doesn't seem like the kind of thing you can gloss over and call good," Emma remarks, sympathy unknowingly creeping into her voice.

"I'm not even sure what we can talk about at this point," Killian says, running a hand over his face. "I'm not about to give up by any means, but it's up to Milah as much as it's up to me. She's been working up the nerve to leave this man for _weeks_ , with nothing to show for it. I don't want to push her, but the whole thing is driving me mad."

"I know," Emma says quietly, absentmindedly combing her fingers through his hair.

"I hate waiting," Killian huffs.

"You pride yourself on being patient," Emma reminds him indignantly, her hand coming to a halt.

"I do no such thing," Killian retorts, his gentle nudge to get her to resume playing with his hair a stark contrast to his sharp tone.

Emma thinks he can't see the way she mimics him, mouthing his exact words with over exaggerated facial expressions, but his elbow in her stomach proves otherwise.

"You'd tell me if I could do anything to help though, right?" Emma asks after jokingly scolding Killian about the fake double standards in their friendship that stated she could injure him but he could not touch her.

"I'm set for a while like this, love."

They fall asleep like that, even though it's barely ten at night and neither of them has been in bed before midnight since they were in high school. For once, Emma is the one who wakes up with a crick in her neck, Killian's head still in her lap and her fingers still tangled in his hair. She slowly lifts Killian's head long enough to slip out from under it and stumbles to the kitchen to make coffee. Her body aches like she spent the night crammed in her car waiting for a perp instead of on the couch in her apartment, but she could tell that Killian was feeling better, and that made everything worth it.

"Swan?" His voice is thick with sleep and she can just imagine his face, all scrunched up in confusion as he searches for her, and Emma has to remember to breathe.

"Here," she calls, her face suddenly abnormally warm.

"Coffee?" Killian asks hopefully, turning to bury his face in a pillow. (It smells like her.)

"Air?" Emma quips, already setting down a mug on the coffee table.

Killian turns his head just enough to smile at her. "Thanks," he says quietly, and they both know he's not talking about the caffeine.

"What are friends for?"

* * *

"Penny for your thoughts," Walsh says, pressing a kiss to the top of Emma's head and running a thumb over her wrist.

Emma hums, content to spend the night like this, with Walsh, on her couch, watching but not really paying attention to one of his absurd documentaries. She presses a little closer, snuggling into his chest, and voices her thought out loud, "Just thinking that I'm right where I want to be."

Walsh smiles at that, unaware that Emma has spent the past few days gathering the courage to let him know that she loves him, too, because she thinks she does - in fact, she's almost sure of it.

The room is quiet, save for the monotonous drone of the documentary narrator, but it's comfortable and familiar and exactly the kind of calm Emma craves.

"Hey, Walsh?"

"Yeah sweetheart?" He's completely entranced by the screen, displaying _monkeys_ , of all things, but a slight tug on his shirt from Emma is all it takes for him to turn to face her. "What's up?"

Emma steels her nerves and shifts to face him as well. The earnest expression on Walsh's face brings a smile to hers, and she leans forward so that their foreheads touch. She thumbs at his cheek and has barely said the word _I_ when her phone starts to ring.

"Oh, for the love of," Emma mutters, sighing and giving Walsh a quick kiss before digging out her phone from under the couch cushion. "I'm sorry, let me just make sure that this isn't work related."

"Take your time," Walsh says, rubbing Emma's arm when she settles back against him.

She blinks in surprise when, instead of the blank screen she associates with work, her phone displays a goofy picture of her and Killian, his arm slung around her shoulders as they laughed at whatever joke one of them had made. It's an odd time for Killian to call - it's more like him to text, really - and Emma almost considers sending it to voicemail, but something makes her pick up.

"Killian? Something wrong?" Emma asks, missing Walsh's exasperated sigh in her concern for her best friend.

"It's Milah. I-I got a call she was in an accident, and I have to go to the hospital...and Swan, I don't know what to do."

Emma's hand flies to her mouth, and Walsh must have heard, because he's already slipping on his shoes and grabbing her jacket for her.

"Okay, hang tight. I'll give you a ride to the hospital and we'll figure out what to do from there, okay? Killian?"

Killian draws a deep breath from his end of the call and Emma can picture him nodding. "Yes, right, okay. Of course. Good plan."

"Killian."

"Yeah?"

Emma worries her bottom lip, afraid of the answer to the question she's about to ask. "How bad?"

"They didn't say." Killian's voice is quiet, unsure, and Emma knows that she's going to have to be strong for the both of them tonight.

* * *

 **I know I've been gone, but review anyway?**


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Just wanted to give a special shoutout to Andria, who always reviews every single thing I post no matter how long I've been away and is by far one of the most loyal readers I have ever encountered. I read every word you guys leave, and I appreciate them all. Thanks for sticking by me, and for those of you who are new, thanks for giving me a chance._

The next few days are a blur. Their friends start looking after Killian in shifts, afraid of what he'll do when left alone, but Emma is a constant, no matter who is around. She's the only one who can tell that deep down, underneath all of the worry and the hurt, he's _furious_.

"Killian, come on, talk to me. You're not angry at yourself, are you? We've gone over that," Emma says quietly. She had spent the first night convincing Killian that he was not to blame for the accident, that it wasn't his fault for telling Milah that he couldn't be involved with someone who was already in a relationship, that she had to fight for what she really wanted. She had thought that she'd finally broken through to him, but he was pacing, and Killian never paced.

"No, it's not me I'm angry with. It's _him_." There's a hate in Killian's eyes that she's never seen in all the years she's known him, and it's hard for her to recognize the gentle boy who still insists on capturing and releasing spiders in the wild when she'd rather exterminate the entire species.

"Who's _him_?" Emma asks, bewildered.

"The bloody crocodile who thought it fit to play god and crash into her car!" Killian shouts, his hands going to his hair. Emma doesn't think and flinches before she can catch herself, but this outburst is better than the seething, quiet anger that she knows he's been struggling with.

Killian notices the small movement and sighs, reining in his frustration. "I'm sorry, love. It's not you I'm angry with. I just wish I could do _something_ , but because he has money and power he gets off scotch free while Milah's in the hospital fighting for her life! Her own bloody father won't do anything for fear of the repercussions to his damn company!"

"I know. But Killian, there are things you can do so you don't have to sit in my apartment driving yourself insane. Aren't you the one who always says that you want to pursue law because you believe in justice?" She's set him on a warpath and she knows it, but she also knows that he'll do something he regrets if he continues to be influenced by uninhibited rage.

"I need to make some calls," Killian says suddenly. He hasn't spent the last couple of years networking and doing internships for nothing, after all. He stops and kisses Emma's head before rushing out her door. "Thanks, Swan."

He's gone in a flash, and she makes a few calls of her own.

* * *

Between Emma's reputation as one of the best bail bondsperson in Boston and Killian's contacts in the courthouse, they begin to build a case against Milah's former lover, the man responsible for her coma. A man as rich as Mr. Gold won't be easy to put behind bars, but if there's anything Emma and Killian are, it's stubborn.

David tries to help, too. When people stop by the animal shelter, he tells them about the accident, how law enforcement currently isn't persecuting Gold, and asks them if they won't mind signing a petition to get someone, anyone, to pursue the case. Walsh keeps a petition sheet in his store because Emma asks him to, but he doesn't try and push it the way David does.

Right after the accident, Walsh had been exceedingly understanding when it came to Emma's concern about Killian. A week later, she can see his patience fading, but her best friend needs her and if Walsh wants to be in her life, he has to learn to deal with that.

Besides, he had once told her that the thing he loves most about her is her loyalty to her friends, and she had to believe that was still true. She didn't have the time or emotional capacity to think otherwise.

The story about Milah and Mr. Gold goes viral on social media, thanks to Mary Margaret and Ruby. Emma hadn't expected to be so distraught about the situation, but she had grown to like Milah, and she hated how Gold was affecting Killian.

"Emma, you aren't dressed for dinner," Walsh says, walking into her living room with a frown. Her hair is in a sloppy ponytail and she's wearing sweats and one of Killian's shirts, and when Walsh sees that, his frown deepens. "Did you forget we had a date?"

Emma takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes. "Oh God, Walsh, yeah. I'm sorry. One of my contacts offered some information on Gold that might be useful and I got caught up emailing them."

"I see."

Emma opens her eyes and peers up at him. "Are you upset?"

Walsh takes a deep breath and starts laughing, but there's no humor in it. "Are you kidding me, Emma? Of course I am!"

"Okay…" Emma mutters, trying to not let her own temper rise. "And why would that be, pray tell?"

"All you can talk about is this goddamn case! It's taken over all of our lives - I never asked for that! I own a furniture store, for Christ's sake. I shouldn't be on a crusade to put some billionaire in jail, and neither should you! Killian's somehow managed to get all of us sucked into his own personal tirade, and I refuse to be a part of it anymore." Walsh is seething, all of his usual charm and tact gone, replaced by wild eyes filled with frustration and jealousy.

" _Personal tirade_?" Emma repeats indignantly. "His girlfriend is in a coma because some jackass refused to accept the fact that she was leaving him and _purposefully crashed into her car_. How are you _not_ angry about that?"

"I refuse to put my life on hold because of this, Emma! I refuse to put our relationship on hold!"

"Our relationship isn't on hold!" Emma shouts back, gaping at him.

"Really? Then why is it that every time we're together, you can only think about Killian, and what he needs, what he wants? You might as well be in a relationship with him!"

"How can you even say that?" Emma asks, the pitch of her voice growing higher with indignation. "He's my best friend!"

"Oh, please, we can all tell that it's way more than that!"

"Do _not_ try to taint our friendship with your own petty jealousy! I can't believe that Milah's barely alive and you're making this all about you."

"It's him or me, Emma."

Emma stops cold, staring at him in disbelief. "What?"

"You heard me. Make your choice. I refuse to be in a relationship with you when you're so concerned over another man."

This time, it's Emma who laughs, and the look she gives Walsh is devoid of any emotion. "The very fact that you're asking me to choose means there's not even a decision to be made. Get out, and don't call me."

Walsh's transformation would have dumbfounded Emma just a few days ago, but their argument had revealed him to be insecure and vindictive, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

The glare Walsh directs at her might have cowed the lost little girl Emma used to be, desperate for love and affirmation, but not the woman Emma is now, the one who knows she doesn't need Walsh for either of those things, not when she has friends like Killian. The thought is enough to bring a wry smile to her face, and she gives Walsh a sarcastic wave of her fingertips before he slams the door behind him.

* * *

"Just when I was finally starting to like him," David remarks dryly when Emma recounts her breakup with Walsh to him and Mary Margaret the next day.

"Yeah, well, hidden beneath all of that charm was the whiny, self-absorbed flying monkey Killian originally said he was. Don't tell him, though. He's got enough on his mind with Milah - I don't want him to think this is his fault," Emma says, sighing.

"How is he?" Mary Margaret asks, her eyes full of concern.

"I haven't seen him in days," David adds. He would never admit it out loud, but Killian is practically a brother to him, and he's one of the few people he trusts to be a part of Emma's life.

"He said he couldn't sleep in his own bed," Emma tells them, closing her eyes at the memory of how broken Killian had seemed when he finally admitted why he'd been staying at her apartment instead of his own. "It reminds him too much of Milah."

"He must be hurting so much," Mary Margaret whispers, and the sight of her tears are almost enough to bring some of Emma's to the surface.

"I've never seen him like this before. It's not just justice he's after anymore; it's revenge. He's gonna kill himself trying to hurt Gold."

"You don't mess with a man that powerful and get away unscathed," David agrees. "He's starting to get reckless."

"I don't think he cares what he does, as long as Gold suffers too," Emma says, unconsciously mimicking Killian when she runs her hands over her face and through her hair. David raises an eyebrow and glances at Mary Margaret, who shrugs and fights a smile, despite her worry over the situation.

Emma bites at a fingernail, something she hasn't done since she was a teenager. Despite her efforts and intentions, she can only do so much to help Killian, and all of them combined lack the influence necessary to bring down Gold. She's helpless and she hates it, hates that she has to watch her best friend suffer and can't do anything about it. She's kept the tears bottled in for two weeks, pushing her own feelings aside to take care of Killian and make sure he gets through each day. She starts to sob and can't stop, and she doesn't know what she's crying about, _who_ she's crying about, but she cries like her heart is broken, and maybe it is. Maybe for Milah, maybe for herself, but almost certainly for Killian.

Mary Margaret and David wrap her in a bear hug, David's hand automatically coming up to cradle Emma's head. They've been worried about her, too, but knew better than to voice their concerns about her when Killian was hurting. Whether she knew it or not, Emma had insisted on putting Killian's needs above her own from the moment she met him.

"God, I'm sorry," Emma says remorsefully, her eyes red and puffy and her face streaked with tears. "I shouldn't be crying. What Killian is going through is ten times worse than whatever it is I'm dealing with right now."

"Emma, he wouldn't want you to ignore your feelings. You just broke up with Walsh - you're allowed to cry. Even if that wasn't the case, you're still allowed to cry. It's not selfish for you to take care of yourself too," Mary Margaret reminds her, wiping away a lingering tear. "Killian would be overcome with guilt if he found out that you wouldn't let yourself hurt just because he's hurting. You two are allowed to be upset at the same time, you know." The last part is said in a sardonic tone that, coming from Mary Margaret, is enough to get Emma to chuckle.

"I just hate seeing him like this," Emma admits. "He looks _hollow_. I think the only thing keeping him going is his need for revenge, and that's far from healthy."

"Maybe you should tell him that," Mary Margaret suggests.

"Somehow I don't think he'll be receptive to that particular insight," Emma says with a little more bite than she intended. "Sorry, again. I know I'm being insufferable."

Mary Margaret shrugs, and her smile is a touch too innocent. "We're all insufferable when it comes to the people we love."

Emma knows the love Mary Margaret is talking about is the platonic, familial kind - at least, she tries to convince herself that. Still, she pretends like she didn't hear the all too mild suggestion her friend is hinting at, and is only betrayed by the slight tinge of pink in her cheeks.

* * *

 **Review?**


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Normally I wouldn't think to include this, but I felt it was important - I don't have a beta for this story, never have, so if there are shockingly awful grammatical errors or I am not doing a particular character justice, please forgive me, and feel free to let me know. Also, there is a semi-important author's note at the end for a change that I think is worth reading. Fair warning, this is a longer chapter than usual, and a lot happens over a very short period of time._

* * *

Killian has taken to falling asleep in the most random places in Emma's apartment. She catches him unconscious in the kitchen, on the couch, on the _floor_. It takes some time, but eventually Emma manages to convince Killian that it would not be "bad form" if he slept in her bed. If she notices the way he cries out in his sleep and is only able to calm down after she tucks herself closer to him, she doesn't say anything.

Her heart melts a bit when his arms snake around her waist and draws her to him in his sleep, and she doesn't say anything about that, either.

They're sitting in a circle with the rest of their team - because it is a team, really, of a few twenty somethings who are tired of a law enforcement that does nothing when it comes to wealthy men - debriefing on what their independent research projects have resulted in when the screen on Emma's phone lights up.

"Oh my God," Emma whispers. "Oh my God!"

"What is it, Swan?" Killian asks, peering over her shoulder and barely avoiding being hit in the face when Emma's hands start to fly in her excitement.

"Leroy dug up some dirt on Gold! It might be enough to actually convince an attorney with a backbone to take our case."

"Well, what did Leroy find?" Mary Margaret asks, her eyes already bright with hope.

"A girl named Ashley Boyd once tried to sue Gold because she set up a deal with him to give her baby up and changed her mind; Gold took the baby anyway."

Mary Margaret's jaw drops in shock, the hope in her eyes quickly replaced with outrage. "That poor girl! I-I can't even imagine the loss of being forced to give your baby away! What kind of man is capable of doing such a thing?"

"Gold, apparently. He's like a storybook villain, completely devoid of any moral compass," David remarks thoughtfully.

"This whole 'stealing a baby' thing reminds me of that one story Ruth has in her house...what was it called?"

"It was the story of Rumplestiltskin!" David exclaims, snapping his fingers and pointing at Emma victoriously. "He made someone promise him their first-born child in exchange for a favor."

"I still prefer to think of him as the crocodile," Killian mutters, but there's a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and they'll all take what they can get.

* * *

Emma doesn't believe in miracles. She used to, once, but that had ended when the people she had thought were her forever family threw her back into the foster system as soon as they conceived a baby of their own.

Still, even she can't deny that Milah waking up is a miracle.

Killian is ecstatic when he gets the news, his joy unbridled and his grin infectious. He turns to smile at her and Emma has to catch her breath, but everyone is too caught up in their relief to notice - Emma's personal miracle, of a very different kind.

Everyone hangs back when Killian rushes to the hospital to see Milah, Emma included. Something brings tears to her eyes when she sees him run out the door beaming, something she immediately stamps out of existence and chooses to ignore.

That night, Killian doesn't need Emma to crawl into bed next to him and hold him until he can fall asleep, and Emma doesn't know why, but that _hurts_. For the second time that day, Emma is on the verge of crying - she can't remember ever tearing up as much as she has since the accident.

She doesn't sleep well, barely sleeps at all, really, but she drags herself out of bed and applies a liberal amount of concealer before she meets Killian at the hospital.

"Swan!" Killian exclaims, and Emma finds herself stuttering in response to the delight in his voice until she realizes that it is because Milah is awake, not because he's excited to see _her_. "Look who's awake!"

Emma's smile is small but genuine when she sees Milah, carefully sitting up against a mountain of pillows (Killian's work, she's sure). "You cannot believe how good it is to see you up and conscious. How're you feeling?"

"Like a car hit me," Milah says, suppressing her laughter. "I hear you're helping lead the charge against the rotten, sorry excuse of a man who put me here."

"Gold won't know what hit him," Emma replies, her smile shifting into something a little more predatory.

Milah nods in approval, satisfied with whatever she sees in Emma's expression. "Good."

"I hate to ask, but is there anything you can tell us that might help put him behind bars?" Emma perches on the window sill, her arms supporting most of her weight. It's as far away as she can get from Killian in the tiny hospital room and while she doesn't notice, he does.

Milah grins ruefully. "Where do I begin? Embezzlement, fraud, pawning off stolen items...he makes all of his money off of other people's suffering, and threatens everyone into submission. His own son died trying to get away from him," she adds solemnly. "Underneath it all, though, Robert Gold is a coward, plain and simple. Only his power makes him brave, if that's even the proper word for it."

Emma lets out a low whistle; Gold puts even the sleaziest of her marks to shame. "I think I can work with that."

"Send him my love when they lock him up," Milah says with a cheeky smile.

Killian snorts and Emma laughs. "I'll be sure to give him your regards."

* * *

Milah is released from the hospital a few days after she wakes up and it's no surprise to anyone when Mary Margaret insists on throwing her a "welcome home" party. Mary Margaret manages to enlist everyone's help, and they're all waiting in David and Killian's shared apartment with the lights turned off because Mary Margaret still believes that Milah is completely unaware of the party and no one wants to tell her otherwise.

At Mary Margaret's insistence, they all leap out from behind furniture and shout _surprise_ when Milah and Killian walk through the door. Milah plays her part perfectly, exclaiming and pointing a chastising finger at everyone involved for keeping the party a "secret." Killian's grinning ear to ear and he's never looked happier.

Emma has never felt more miserable.

She's thrilled that Milah is awake, truly. She had come to appreciate the other woman as a genuine friend and was outraged by the lack of justice she was receiving.

Still, seeing Milah and Killian together hurts in a way Emma couldn't have imagined in her wildest dreams. She's not sure when the _something_ \- because she had no other words for it, this bizarre phenomenon occurring inside her head and heart - changed, but she has a feeling there is no going back.

Milah laughs and Killian kisses her forehead, her cheek, her nose, anywhere he can reach, and Emma finds herself desperately wishing that she could go back in time, before she was aware of whatever internal turmoil she has going on.

"Emma? You okay?" David asks, jolting her out of her morbid thoughts.

"Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?" Emma responds, her tone a bit sharper than she intended. She loved David, but he could be as obtuse as a hundred degree angle, so if he could tell that something was on her mind, she wasn't hiding her feelings as well as she should be.

"You seem unhappy."

Ah. If there is anything David can detect from a million miles away, it's an unhappy Emma. And if there's one thing Emma can't do, it's lie to her brother.

"I can't really explain it," Emma says, her exasperation obvious as she struggles to put her feelings into words. She's always been terrible at that, but David has never run out of patience with her. "Something's just different."

"Some _thing_ or some _one_?"

If Emma didn't know better, she'd say David was laughing at her.

She does know better.

He is.

* * *

"He looks so happy," Mary Margaret comments, settling down on the floor next to Emma.

"He does," Emma agrees, carefully keeping her tone neutral. Not for the first time, she's grateful that Mary Margaret can be even more oblivious than David.

"You don't," Mary Margaret says serenely.

 _Spoke too soon_ , Emma thinks wryly, mentally preparing herself for whatever "have hope and take a leap of faith" speech Mary Margaret is about to bless her with.

"Emma, I know something's bothering you, and I know you would rather cut off your own hand than let anyone know, but if you want to talk about it, I'm always here," Mary Margaret offers, and her sincerity shocks Emma.

Aside from Killian (he was a given), Mary Margaret had been her first real friend. (As her adopted brother, David most definitely did not count - much like Killian, he was a given.)

Emma feels that pull to tell Mary Margaret everything, the same pull she had felt when they first met. She's almost caving in when there's a knock on the door, and Mary Margaret's expression goes from earnest to puzzled.

"Who could that be? Everyone's already here," Mary Margaret says, frowning. "The more the merrier, I suppose, but I hate the idea of party crashers."

Despite the raging conflict going on in Emma's mind, Mary Margaret's comments make her smile, and she reaches over to pat her friend's knee comfortingly. Killian manages to drag himself away from Milah reluctantly, but it's David who gets to the door first.

"Uh, can I help you?" David asks. The woman standing in the hallway doesn't fit with their crowd; her dark hair is cut short and styled to perfection, her makeup flawless, and she's wearing a _pantsuit_. Emma pegs her to be in her early thirties, and catches a glimpse of a briefcase, of all things.

Emma and Mary Margaret turn to look at each other, both with their eyebrows raised in a silent question, and laugh when they realize neither of them knows who the hell the woman is.

"Sorry to interrupt," the woman says, her voice as cool and businesslike as Emma would expect from someone looking perfectly at ease in a blazer and stilettos on a Saturday night. "Is Killian Jones here?"

Killian leaps to his feet and pokes his head around David, who gives him a bemused look before stepping back. "Regina? It's a strange hour for you to pay a call," Killian says, and something about Regina's body language makes him tense.

Reflexively, Emma tenses, too.

"You're telling me," the woman - Regina - snarks. "Crashing a party thrown by a bunch of twenty year olds is not my idea of fun, Jones."

Killian frowns and steps to the side. "Come in, then, and tell me what this is all about. Or would you rather I guessed?"

Regina rolls her eyes, and Emma can't decide whether her sharp sense of humor is amusing or irritating. Still, she doesn't seem like a bad sort, and there's something akin to exasperated affection in her face when she scolds Killian for not answering his phone. Emma knows the feeling.

"Spare me from what I'm sure are your absurd suggestions. It's not good news, I'm afraid."

"I surmised as much; it's not like you to pay a social visit, after all." Killian's voice drops and he leans forward, noticing the same tension in Regina's shoulders that Emma had. "Has this anything to do with our case?"

Emma had thought that Regina's name seemed familiar. _Regina Mills_ , the powerhouse attorney helping them with their case against Gold. Emma's heart sinks when she realizes what a visit from the lawyer could mean, none of her imaginings positive.

"It has everything to do with your case," Regina says, and if Emma's not mistaken, there's sympathy tinging her voice. "Can we discuss this in private?"

Killian pauses, but Milah is looking up at him desperately and everyone else is hanging on every word. He looks over at Emma, and she nods, almost imperceptibly, and she recognizes the steely resolve settling over his features.

"I've no reason to not be transparent with everyone here. They've all been valuable help to Milah and me in this fool's quest of ours - they deserve to know any new information you might have."

There's a stubborn set to Killian's jaw and Emma is confused with the familiarity of the expression until Mary Margaret quietly informs her that she sees the same look on Emma's face all the time. If Emma blushes, Mary Margaret is gracious enough to not point it out.

Regina sighs, and she looks tired, suddenly. Underneath all of the polish and poise, Emma suspects that Regina cares more about Killian and their case than she'd ever care to say aloud.

"We've hit an obstacle with the case. I've been told that I can no longer move forward because there is nothing to pursue," Regina says stiffly. "All of the information that you've accumulated, all of the evidence, it's gone. Useless. Gold was tipped off about everything and had it conveniently erased from existence."

"How is that possible?" Mary Margaret breathes.

"Robert Gold is quite possibly the wealthiest man in Boston - he has his hands in everything. He basically owns the city. With his influence, he could make anything disappear," Regina spits, her personal dislike of the man glaringly obvious.

"Who tipped him off?" Killian is quiet, and when Emma allows herself to study him, she finds that his cold, seething rage is back. She closes her eyes briefly; it had taken Milah waking up from a _coma_ to get him as close to normal as possible. She didn't know if there were any miracles left to heal all of Killian's hurt at the thought of betrayal from one of their friends.

A sudden thought occurs to Emma and she swears before she can stop herself. "I know who leaked the information." _That bastard_. "It had to have been Walsh. He had access to _everything_ , was there for every meeting we had, and he definitely had an incentive." She bites her lip in frustration and risks looking at Killian.

"It's not your fault, Swan," he says automatically, detecting the remorse and guilt in Emma's face with ease. "You couldn't have known he would turn out to be such a rat."

" _You_ knew." It's the closest she'll ever get to saying _you were right_ and they both knew it.

"Yes, well, not everyone can be so blessed as to match my wit and foresight." The arrogant remark is half-hearted and Emma can only watch as Milah shuts her eyes tight - it's all of their worst fears come true.

They've lost, and Gold has won.

* * *

 _A/N: I'm thoroughly aware of how unfair this situation is, but when I thought of how this chapter should go, this was the only way that felt right, and it gave me a chance to finally introduce Regina in a way that makes sense. I didn't want to kill Milah off, but Gold had to "win" somehow, even if it hurts the gang. I know it sucks, but that's life with Rumplestiltskin, isn't it?_ **Review anyway?**


	14. Chapter 14

Emma can't say she's surprised when Killian bursts into her apartment, his ranting incomprehensible as the door slams behind him, because she knows better than to expect him to take Gold's victory quietly. She eyes the beer in his hand and digs out the whiskey she keeps for rainy days; even for them, this is one hell of a rainy day.

She hands a glass to him silently and doesn't pour until he sits down on the couch, both knees bouncing up and down so fast she can feel the movement from her perch on the armrest. Emma doesn't push, though, and dredges up the patience to wait until Killian is ready to talk.

If there's one person she can muster up patience for, it's Killian Jones.

Somewhere in the very far corners of her mind, Emma knows that there has been a shift in her opinion of her best friend, but she won't allow herself to dwell on it. Not now, not when he needs her more than ever.

Killian screams into a pillow before punching it and Emma flinches. She has seen three versions of drunk Killian in the years that she's known him: unashamedly flirtatious, overly affectionate, and dark and brooding. Never has she seen him violent.

Robert Gold brings out a side to Killian that even Emma is a little apprehensive of.

Still, she trusts Killian. Always has, always will.

"She's leaving," Killian says flatly, not looking at Emma. She doesn't have to be a genius to know who he's talking about.

"Why?" Emma asks. She thinks for a moment and realizes that not only does she genuinely like Milah, she's sad to discover that the other woman is no longer going to be around.

"Her father...the crocodile bought out his company. Ruined him, more or less. Milah's father is scared and insists on taking her back to Australia with him. I can't even blame him, really, because at least that way she's safe but it…"

"It sucks," Emma finishes for him.

Killian mouth quirks up in the slightest of smiles. "It does indeed 'suck,' as you so eloquently put it."

"I am known to be rather eloquent," Emma says matter-of-factly, a smile in her eyes because he has a way with words that's good enough for the both of them. (So good, in fact, that he had written most of her essays in high school while she coached him on dealing with newfound attention from girls, but that's another story entirely.)

Emma hesitates for a moment, but this is Killian, and she has always been able to speak her mind around him.

"Can you blame her for leaving? Or her dad for wanting to protect her, anyway? Gold was able to intentionally crash into her car and leave her in a coma, and he walked. He never even went to court. Milah's not safe here."

"That shouldn't have to be the case! Gold should be in jail, and Milah should be...Milah should be able to feel safe."

"She will," Emma says tentatively. "Just maybe not here."

"Nothing I can say or do will convince her to stay," Killian mutters, and Emma can see how distraught he truly is.

Emma shakes her head and clucks her tongue. She slides off the arm of the couch to sit next to her best friend and reaches out to turn his head so that he's forced to look at her. "Listen to me, Killian. Milah leaving does not lessen or negate her feelings for you. She loves you. But her father - her family - is leaving, because they just aren't safe while Gold is free. They're doing what they need to survive."

Maybe Emma and Milah are more alike than the former had originally thought.

Killian nods, slowly, and shuts his eyes. "It's so bloody unfair," he whispers, tilting his head down so that his forehead rests against Emma's.

Emma desperately wishes for Mary Margaret, because what Killian needs now is hope, hope that he can be happy and love again, and she isn't sure how to convince him of that.

"I know. But you'll be okay," she says at last. "It'll take time, but you'll get there."

 _I'm here for you_.

* * *

They all help Milah pack. Emma catches Mary Margaret tearing up more than once, and each time, she's tempted to join her. The look on Killian's face is heartbreaking, an exact mirror of Milah's own despair.

Emma can't look at either of them for more than a few seconds before she's tempted to chase down Gold herself. She knows it's a fool's errand, but she wants to be able to do _something_. Sitting around, helping someone who grew to be a good friend in her own right pack up her whole life, is driving Emma mad.

Killian finishes sealing the last box and hesitates, his hand slowly dropping to his side when he realizes that this is it. There's nothing more any of them can do.

"It's time," Milah says quietly, giving his arm what is supposed to be a reassuring squeeze.

Killian turns to face her and it's clear what he wants to say. _Please stay_. He doesn't, though, because he's not so cruel as to make Milah say no when she desperately wants to say yes.

It isn't fair.

Emma and Mary Margaret both hug Milah before they leave, and hug Killian just as tightly. David hugs Milah, too, and claps Killian on the shoulder a few times. They had all already agreed that Killian would be the only one to see Milah off at the airport.

Milah silently takes Killian's hand and leads him out the door. She doesn't want to be around when the movers slowly begin to erase her existence in the apartment that's been her home for almost four years now.

Killian attempts to find the words necessary to convey to Milah how much he loves her, how nothing can change that. He tries to tell her that he will never forget her or what they have shared, how that is one thing Robert Gold can never buy and take away. For once, his infamous eloquence fails him.

Still, Milah seems to understand what he's trying to say. She doesn't let go of his hand until they reach the airport, and doesn't comment on how Killian's driving a little below the speed limit.

They both struggle to find the right parting words, but nothing seems right. When Killian walks Milah into the airport, they don't have anything to say. Milah wipes away the tears that have strayed from Killian's eyes and forces a smile. She knows that he wants her to promise to stay in touch, but she won't. She wants a clean break, but not for herself.

She wants to give Killian a chance for a fresh start.

She's wrong, though. Killian doesn't want empty promises of trying to sustain a transcontinental relationship. He wants Milah to move on with her life just as much.

"Be happy," Killian says at last, pressing a kiss to Milah's forehead. "Whatever it takes, just...be happy."

Milah's mouth trembles but she manages to smile. "You, too, Killian. I mean it. Give yourself the chance to find your real happy ending."

Killian wants to tell her that _she_ is his happy ending, but something makes him pause. Milah's smile is real, now, and he's quite certain that it's one of encouragement.

"Be happy," Milah says, repeating Killian's own words to him. "Whatever it takes, with whomever you choose."

They both know who she's referring to, but the mutual understanding doesn't muddy their farewell. Killian still holds Milah just as tightly and she's still just as reluctant to go, but eventually, she does, and Killian is left standing alone.

* * *

Emma is curled up on the couch in Killian and David's apartment when Killian returns. Mary Margaret is the first to get up and hug him, with David as a close second. Emma stays where she is and waits, and has her arms open by the time Mary Margaret and David are done. Killian welcomes her hug readily enough, if not with a slight tinge of pink to his cheeks. It's to be expected, Emma supposes, considering what he was going through.

Killian shifts so that his head is in her lap, and Mary Margaret shoots a pointed glance at David, who quickly clears his throat and mumbles something about driving her home before he is ushered out the door.

"How're you doing?"

"I'll be okay, I think. In time," Killian admits thoughtfully. "But there's something I need to do first."

"Anything I can do to help?" Emma asks, mildly surprised when Killian starts playing with her fingers. She can feel a blush creeping up on her face, but luckily Killian has his eyes closed and doesn't notice.

"I don't think so, lass. While your particular set of skills might prove useful, this is something I need to do on my own," Killian says, opening his eyes and fixing his gaze on their entwined hands. It's not abnormal behavior for them at all, but for some reason, Killian is acting like her hand is the most interesting thing in the world.

Odd.

"Wait," Emma says, frowning as she processes what Killian said. "What do you mean, my particular set of skills?"

Killian schools his features into the picture of innocence and Emma's eyes narrow. It's never a good sign when Killian Jones tries to play the innocent.

"Never you mind, love. I've got it under control."

"Got _what_ under control?"

Killian shrugs and Emma rolls her eyes, because there's now a quiet determination about him that she won't be able to crack, no matter how hard she tries. She nudges him until he gets the message and sits up, letting her go without a word.

Emma turns to look at him, her hand on the doorknob. "Just…don't get yourself killed, whatever it is you plan on doing."

Killian grins. "Don't you worry, Swan. I'm a survivor." Emma huffs and gently closes the door behind her, and Killian's grin falls.

It's time for him to skin a crocodile.

* * *

"Emma, have you seen Killian lately? He didn't come home last night," David says, Mary Margaret trailing behind him into Emma's apartment.

Emma raises her eyebrows. "No, I haven't seen him since I left your guys' place yesterday."

"That's weird. He didn't say anything about plans, did he? I didn't think he'd be up to going out so soon after Milah…"

"No, he didn't mention plans, but," Emma pauses and sighs, "I have a hunch."

She can feel the panic building but pushes it down. It's time for efficiency, not anxiety. She ignores the questions posed by Mary Margaret and David and runs around her apartment, grabbing whatever she thinks is necessary. Emma grabs a first aid kit, just in case, because if Killian's doing what she thinks he's doing, he's not going to walk away unscathed.

"Emma?" Mary Margaret's voice is hesitant, her jaw dropping slightly when she watches Emma slip her gun into a holster, hidden underneath the red leather jacket that Killian bought for her to replace her old one.

"Don't ask," Emma says, her mouth a thin line. "You don't want to know."

Mary Margaret stutters for a moment before nodding. "Be careful, okay?"

"I don't think it's me you have to be worried about."

She has to stop Killian before he does something he'll regret. Luckily for her, he's easy enough to track – she's never been so grateful for 'Find My Friends,' or the fact that Killian still barely knows how to use his phone.

* * *

She finds Killian in an apartment complex notorious for its wealthy residents. Emma swears under her breath and quickly parks her car, running to the alley behind the building. If Killian's acting with any foresight, he won't go after Gold in his own home.

Emma breaks into a sprint when she sees them. Killian has Gold pinned against the brick wall of the alleyway, his rage built up to a thundering storm. Gold's face is bloody and battered, but Emma can detect a devilish grin that makes her blood run cold.

Gold gets ready to swing at Killian with his cane - how old _is_ this man? - but Emma is faster, yanking Killian away by his shirt and snapping a kick at the leg Gold favors. He crumbles to the ground and Emma places a foot firmly on his chest, her gun trained on his face and steady in her hands.

"Killian, this isn't you," she says, not taking her eyes off of Gold.

"He _ruined_ Milah's life!"

"That doesn't mean you need to let him ruin yours!" Emma snaps back. "He can have you in jail in a heartbeat. Use your damn common sense and you'd be able to see that too."

She risks a glance at Killian and hell, she's never seen such fury in his eyes. There's resentment, too, because she's taking away his chance for revenge, but if Emma can just get him away from Gold alive, he can be as angry at her as he wants.

"You'd better listen to your lovely companion, dearie," Gold quips, obviously delighted in Killian's pain despite the fact that he is the one flat on the ground with a gun pointed at him. "The same way you should have listened to Milah when she told you not to make an enemy of me."

"Get out of here before I kill you myself," Emma barks at Gold. She's tempted to let Killian enact his revenge on Gold, but she knows that beneath all of the anger and hurt, he would hate himself even more if he killed someone.

Gold gets up, slowly, and Emma follows his every movement with her weapon. One wrong move, and she'll shoot. He stumbles away to the safety of the apartment lobby but looks back right before he turns the corner and grins.

"Ms. Swan won't always be around to protect you." His voice is quiet, soft, even, but it carries and chills Emma to the bone.

 _How does he know my name?_

It catches Killian off guard, too, and Gold manages to disappear without either of them noticing.

"What the hell?" Emma says aloud, carefully putting her gun back in the holster. "What was that?"

Killian comes up behind her and hugs her tight, his chin resting on top of her head. "That was a bloody crocodile that deserves to suffer." Emma tenses, convinced Killian is going to take off after Gold again, but his next words let her relax enough to return the hug. "But you were right. I won't ruin my life chasing revenge - that's his way."

Emma knows that there is a proud smile on her face, even if Killian cannot see it.

"Let's go home."

* * *

 _A/N: Originally, I intended for Killian to be in the car with Milah when she gets in the accident. She was going to die instantly, and he was going to have his hand amputated, but forever be ridden with survivor's guilt. After I wrote the bonding scenes between Emma and Milah, I didn't have the heart to kill her off. Hopefully now everyone can move on. Also, disclaimer: I know literally nothing about guns, so I intentionally kept all details about Emma and her gun vague._

 **Review?**


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Thank you so much to all of the people who constantly leave reviews - it means way more to me than you will ever know! This chapter was a little hard to crank out because I'm struggling to handle the nuances of Emma's feelings for Killian without making her seem too out of character, but hopefully I didn't make too big a mess out of it._

* * *

Their drive home is silent. Emma's not sure what she should've expected, but Killian has never been the type to be at a loss for words. His constant chatter had been an annoyance for most of her life (or so she claimed), but it is a defining feature that she has always associated with him. She worries her bottom lip and focuses on the road, more than a little apprehensive of what she might find should she risk looking at Killian.

Before racing off after Killian, Emma had known what she'd stumble upon when she finally caught up to him, but no amount of mental preparation could have made her ready to see her best friend with murder clearly written on his face.

Emma takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. There's fear in the back of her mind, but she's not sure what she's scared of exactly. She knows one thing, though, and that's that she could never be scared of dorky Killian Jones.

But this isn't dorky Killian Jones, the adorably bumbling goof who didn't know what to do with female attention once he had grown seven inches and joined the swim team. This is a different Killian Jones, one who has had what was possibly the love of his life ripped away from him because of an insane egomaniac.

Emma sneaks a glance at Killian and notices his head nodding, his eyes closed and his breathing even. She smiles slightly, because this is a picture she is very familiar with.

They'll be fine. _He'll_ be fine.

She believes it, for the most part, but it doesn't stop her from worrying. She figures some part of her will always worry over him.

Emma has never been so grateful for Killian's tendency to fall asleep easily in cars, otherwise he would've seen the blush creeping up her neck and teased her mercilessly for it.

* * *

He's not asleep.

He can tell that Emma desperately wants him to say something, anything, but he doesn't know where to begin. It's a coward's way out, surely, and for once, Killian doesn't mind.

She's never going to look at him the same again.

Killian is grateful that Emma had shown up when she did, he really is. He knows in his heart that she was right. He would have regretted it for his entire life if he had followed through on his plan and actually managed to kill Robert Gold, but at the time, he had been blinded by his rage and need for revenge. Killian can still feel the twitch in his fingers, the desire to take everything from Gold as it had been taken from him.

He hears Emma let out a quiet sigh and roll down the window, and he can picture the wind whipping through her hair and the frown on her face as she tries to brush it away. The scent of her shampoo drifts over to him and the smell of that alone is enough to make him relax just a little more.

Maybe not everything has been taken from him.

He knows Emma has stood by him before, ever since he had arrived in Storybrooke, Maine with Liam to live with some distant aunt of theirs. She's not failed him once, and he has every bit of faith that she will continue to stand by him. That doesn't stop the anxiety from building in his stomach, and he closes his eyes tighter.

Killian listens as Emma pulls into her designated parking spot and shifts slightly, as if he's naturally waking up. She seems to have bought his ruse, her smile small and tentative as she unbuckles her seatbelt. He follows suit, keeping a carefully measured distance between them as Emma leads the way to her apartment. The instinct to go wherever Emma goes is deeply ingrained in him, and he's certain that's one thing that will never change.

He's quiet during the elevator ride, fingers drumming his thighs in an attempt to distill some of his anxiety. Killian desperately wants to banter with Emma the way they usually do, but he doesn't have the heart for it, not now.

Killian sucks in a breath when Emma's hand reaches out to take hold of one of his, her grip firm once she laces their fingers together. Her eyes are fixed on the doors but she gives his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze and doesn't let go.

It's almost enough to make Killian crack and break down.

Emma doesn't say anything when they get to her apartment, just unlocks the door and makes a motion that Killian assumes means he's to sit on the couch. He waits as she disappears into her room, and an image bursts into his mind, of Emma with her gun pointed right at Robert Gold's face, her eyes blazing and her mouth a thin line, every bit the avenging angel. He smiles at the memory, her expression at the time an exact replica of what she had looked like every time she had stood up to bullies for his sake. Always his savior, his Swan.

She settles down next to him on the couch, her arm propped up against the back to hold up her head as she searches his face. Killian isn't sure what she's looking for and drops his gaze to his lap even as he mimics her body language.

"Wanna talk about it?" Emma asks quietly.

"Not particularly, no," Killian replies. They both know that she has only to ask one more time before he caves, because he has done everything Emma has ever asked of him since the day they met.

Luckily for him, Emma drops the subject, choosing to watch him carefully instead. His mouth quirks up into a smirk before he can stop himself, the natural need to get a rise out of his best friend overruling his better judgment.

"See something you like, love?" Killian teases, eyebrows raising in a manner he knows Emma finds utterly ridiculous.

For once, Emma doesn't call him out on his flirtatious behavior. She rolls her eyes and shoves him, instead.

"You wish," she teases back.

He's not sure if it's possible, but he can feel his eyebrows raising higher until they're practically reaching his hairline.

If he didn't know better, he'd say that Emma Swan was flirting with him.

"And if I do?"

Killian is rewarded with another eye roll and is that - is Emma _blushing?_

"Please. You couldn't handle it."

He stutters and blinks at her, disbelief crossing over his face. He's certain, now. His best friend is flirting back.

Killian is saved from blurting out whatever undignified response is on the tip of his tongue when David and Mary Margaret burst through Emma's door.

* * *

She can't believe she flirted with him.

She, Emma Swan, had flirted with Killian Jones, her best friend in the entire world, and she had _liked_ it. She liked the way her pulse had jumped when he had teased her and his signature smirk had graced his face. At the time she had tried to pass it off as relief that Killian was back to his normal self, but as she watches him shuffling his feet under the attention of Mary Margaret and David - ever the doting and over-concerned parents, those two - she realizes that she had wanted to flirt with him. It had seemed almost natural, in fact.

She isn't sure what bothers her more: the thought that she wanted to flirt with Killian, or that he had seemed so shocked by it. It's not the right time, and Emma knows that. He's still healing, and the last thing he needs is for her to act prematurely on feelings she's not quite sure what to make of.

Emma is suddenly reminded of the jumps her pulse had made when she had first met Killian, when he had been a gangly thing with untidy hair and the shyest of smiles, right before Neal had slipped an arm around her waist and asked what time she wanted to be picked up for their date that night. The same jumps she had felt after a summer apart, when Killian came home with a tan and a beard and _muscles_ and she couldn't keep herself from openly gaping when they went swimming. The jumps she had felt when she realized they were flirting.

God, she is so screwed.

She decides to keep her discoveries to herself, for now (and possibly forever). Until she's sure, it's definitely not something worth risking her best friend over.

"Emma? Are you listening?"

Emma snaps back to attention with a start. "Huh?" She can practically feel Killian's concern as he studies her and struggles to avoid meeting his eyes.

"Did you hear anything I just said?" Mary Margaret asks, her tone slightly admonishing, every bit the scolding maternal figure. If Emma wasn't so busy fretting over her (not so) newfound feelings for Killian, she would have been amused.

"Sorry, no," Emma says meekly. "I promise I'm listening now."

"I was asking about what our next steps are in making Gold atone for his sins," Mary Margaret says patiently, choosing to ignore the shocked look on Emma's face. "It's not right for someone that horrible to evade justice. There's still hope for making sure he gets what's coming to him."

Emma's mouth drops at her friend's words and the glint in Mary Margaret's eyes, and is saved from putting her foot in it when Killian reaches over to chuck her chin.

"Careful, Swan, else you'll catch flies."

Emma blushes crimson and squirms out of his reach, his confused look not going unnoticed by her or their two audience members.

"Why is Emma blushing?" David whispers into Mary Margaret's ear. His girlfriend shrugs, her gaze searching as Emma studiously stares at the floor.

Emma clears her throat. "Well, since Walsh leaked all the information from our case, we can't exactly go after Gold legally, and we definitely can't go after him ourselves." She turns a pointed look to Killian and continues. "We can talk to Regina again, I guess, and see what she thinks. I hate to say it, but I don't know that there's much we _can_ do at this point."

Killian agrees and is obviously miserable about the concession, and Emma is tempted to track down Gold again herself.

Her heart clenches at the look on Killian's face, one she would do anything to erase. _Shit, shit, shit_.

"I'll give Regina a call," Killian offers, his tone anything but hopeful as he pulls out his phone and heads to the kitchen for a semblance of privacy.

"Poor Killian," Mary Margaret says sadly, already looking as if she's on the verge of tears. "Even when things are as bleak as they are, we all need hope."

Emma smiles wistfully at her friend's strong belief in the power of hope. For her and Killian, and others like them, she knows it just isn't that simple.

It's hard to maintain hope when you're an unwanted orphan.

It's something Mary Margaret will never understand, not when she has two doting parents who treat her like a princess, Emma knows. She doesn't think less of the brunette for not being able to understand - in fact, she's glad that Mary Margaret doesn't. Emma is glad that Mary Margaret can maintain such an optimistic outlook on life, because someone in their little group should, and it sure as hell isn't going to be Emma or Killian.

* * *

There's a polite knock on the door, which is surprising in itself. Everyone who frequents Emma's apartment has little need for manners, delicately speaking, and the people who lack a key generally burst in unannounced. Emma's long since learned that it's easier to leave her door unlocked when she's home, a recurring point of contention with both David and Killian, but only because the two of them have keys and can come and go as they please, whether she likes it or not.

It's Killian who answers the door to reveal Regina Mills, who Emma is seriously starting to assume doesn't own articles of clothing aside from suits.

"I'm going to be frank, Jones. There's not much I can do to help you persecute Robert Gold. He's too good at covering his tracks," Regina announces, shrugging off her blazer and hanging it on the coat rack Emma's sure has never been used since she bought the damn thing.

It's all of their fears confirmed, and there are dejected sighs scattered across the room, but the loudest comes from Mary Margaret. Emma squeezes her shoulder sympathetically before moving to stand next to Killian, his posture rigid and his voice hoarse. She's usually not one for casual physical affection, but she has always made an exception for Killian and slips an arm around his waist in silent support.

"Thank you anyways, Regina, but you needn't have come all this way just to deliver the bad news." Killian's smile is tense at best and Emma gives his shirt a gentle tug, his smile shifting to something a bit more genuine when he looks down at her.

Regina quirks her eyebrow and clears her throat. Emma's cheeks heat up but she doesn't move, determined to fight through her own discomfort to make things easier on Killian.

"I actually came to make an offer. I might not be any help going after Gold, but I can offer you a position at my firm," Regina says, oblivious to the effect her words have on Killian.

Emma feels him go still before he scrambles to find adequate words for his gratitude. She lets out a quiet chuckle and gives him the push he needs to take a step towards Regina.

"I - yes, thank you - this is - this is extremely generous," Killian manages to get out, his eyes wide. He knows that Regina is taking a chance with him, as her only assessment of his legal knowledge had come from discussing their case against Gold, and knows better yet that she does not make offers such as these lightly.

Perhaps things are looking up for them after all.

* * *

 _A/N: After all the tragedy, I felt like the gang needed something positive. Who knew it would come from Regina? Next chapter is almost done, so the next update will be very soon!_

 **Review?**


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: Since the title of this fic is derived from Taylor Swift's 'You're in Love,' I only felt it was natural to incorporate another one of the lines from the song. Let me know if you spot it!_

* * *

"Gold is _engaged_?" Emma exclaims indignantly, her look of disbelief an exact mirror of Mary Margaret's. Both David and Killian have their faces screwed up in disgust, and Emma can't blame them.

Not only is Gold creepy, but he's _old_.

Regina purses her lips. "Would I lie about something like this, Ms. Swan?"

Oddly enough, Emma feels as though she's being scolded by a teacher, and narrows her eyes at the (slightly) older woman.

"Who would marry," Emma gestures with her hand wildly, "you know, that?"

Regina trades her annoyance for a bit of amusement at Emma's hand motions. "It's funny, actually. The woman he's marrying, Belle French, happens to be a former classmate of mine."

David raises his eyebrows. "You're kidding."

Emma can see him mentally doing the calculations, and resists the urge to gag when she realizes there has to be at least a twenty year age difference between Gold and his rather unfortunate fiance.

"What would possess anyone to legally bind themselves to a man such as Robert Gold?" Killian asks, dragging out the word _man_ when it's quite obvious that he would rather use a different word. He's only just started his internship at Regina's firm, and he'd prefer to stay on her good side. Well, her less bad side.

"It's beyond my understanding, but you all seem to be missing the point. I _know_ Belle. That gives me leverage," Regina says slowly, her tone suspiciously akin to the kind one might use on a group of small children.

"And Gold genuinely cares for this woman?" Killian's disbelief is apparent and Emma bumps her shoulder into his. Lately, she'll do anything she can to distract him from dwelling on Robert Gold for too long.

She's found that physical contact usually works best, and the thought never fails to make her cheeks heat up.

"It would appear so, hence the engagement," Regina drawls. At least she's not wearing a suit, for once, and is in the more casual dress of jeans and what Emma strongly suspects is a cashmere sweater. It's a little early to break out fall clothes, but Emma doesn't think Regina is the type to be caught in a blouse without a blazer.

"So what's your plan?" Emma prompts, her impatience getting the best of her. Regina shoots another patronizing look her way, and while she appreciates the attorney's help, she's tempted to punch her in the face.

That probably wouldn't look too great for Killian, though.

"I threaten Gold," Regina says simply, as though she's not offering to go head to head with Boston's most dangerous billionaire. "I threaten to tell Belle everything I know about him, details that would make even her skin crawl - not that it'd take much, I've always thought her to be a lightweight - and he'll have to take me seriously because I have a past with both of them."

"What are you hoping to gain through threatening them?" Mary Margaret asks quietly. Emma knows that her friend's sweet nature is making her find the entire situation distasteful, but sometimes you had to get your hands dirty.

They lost the first time because they were playing by the rules of the game, trying to instill morals into their dance with the crocodile. Now, they know better - with Robert Gold, there are no rules.

"At the very least, Gold goes underground for a while. His petty crimes stop, as well as his tendency to get rid of anyway who's not a pawn in his little game. If we're lucky, he leaves Boston and never comes back. That's what I'll aim for, anyway."

Despite her reservations about Regina, Emma is impressed. If going after Gold himself hadn't worked, maybe going after his beloved wife-to-be will.

"Do it," Killian says, shocking them all out of the silence that had fallen when Regina finished speaking.

Emma can tell that Regina isn't one to take commands lightly, if at all, but she watches as their strange new friend nods, a determined set to her jaw. Regina leaves Emma's apartment without so much as a goodbye, but no one minds. None of them are about to stop a woman on a mission.

Killian's eyes find Emma's and he smiles. It's small, but there's hope in it, and a weight she didn't know was there is lifted off of Emma's chest.

* * *

"Rise and shine, Swan!" Killian's voice booms throughout her tiny bedroom in her tiny apartment, echoed by the sound of her door swinging open and hitting the wall from the force of his enthusiasm. He's been thrilled by the recent turn of events against Gold, and Emma loves that he is getting close to being happy again.

That doesn't stop her from chucking a pillow at his head.

He dodges it with ease, having already anticipated what her response would be to being woken up so early on a Saturday morning, and plops down onto her bed next to her.

"Swan, have you forgotten our Saturday jogs in the park? I'm hurt that such a tradition would be expelled from your mind after a mere few weeks' lapse."

Emma covers her face with a pillow and responds, cursing about the existence of mornings and exercise and health and, most particularly, him in her room.

"Sorry, love, what was that?"

Emma turns her head slightly to glare at him. "I was hoping _you'd_ forgotten, actually."

"Oh, come on, darling, be a good sport. You're the one who initiated this routine, after all. Up and at 'em, then."

Emma barely has time to register his words before she feels his arms slip under her, and stubbornly presses all of her weight into the mattress so that Killian cannot pick her up. She knows he can do it with ease, but she doesn't make a habit of resisting, and catches him off guard. Killian lets out a gentle _oof_ and finds himself having to prop himself up to avoid landing on top of his best friend.

Killian's eyes are wide as he takes in their current situation, the two of them barely daring to breathe and thus risk closing the gap between them. Emma can't help but stare, and _Jesus_ , have his eyes always been that blue?

He makes the first move, rolling off of her and her bed, and, well, onto the floor, which Emma would usually tease him mercilessly about, but she's in no mood for teasing at the moment. She scrambles to her feet and ushers him out of her room on the pretense of getting changed for their run, and leans against her bedroom door once he's safely on the other side, trying to catch her breath.

So, so screwed.

* * *

Slowly but surely, Killian returns back to his normal self. Unfortunately for Emma, that means his constant flirting comes back, too. In the past, she had been able to brush it off as if it were nothing, and she's not sure if it's because she's single for the first time in their entire friendship or if it's because _he's_ single, but she finds herself flustered at the slightest smirk. She wants to talk about it, she does, but her options don't look too great. The only people she feels comfortable discussing strange feelings with are the same ones that will insist this is _something_ when she so desperately wants it to be nothing.

She's not good at keeping people, especially boyfriends, and she can't stand the thought of losing Killian.

Unfortunately, Emma can't use her usual defense mechanism. No matter how much she wants to run, she knows that she can't abandon Killian, especially not when he's still healing. She's certain that Milah has left a scar on his heart forever, but the sharp pain Killian initially felt has been reduced to a dull ache, and he's strong. He's quite arguably the strongest person she knows.

Even so, his flirtatious nature is going to be the death of her, because try as she might, all she wants to do is flirt _back_. Killian and his innocent teasing is not the problem; Emma is.

It's wrong, she knows it's wrong, to suddenly think she has feelings for her best friend, until she remembers all the times it had been just the two of them during lunch at school, since Neal had graduated only a year after Killian arrived. David had joined them, eventually, and Mary Margaret and their other friends, but for a while, it had only been Emma and Killian. Even when he had been her only friend, Emma can say with certainty that that was one of the best times of her life.

Emma groans and presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. How had she gotten herself into such a mess?

* * *

Despite her insistence that she is above hanging out with a group of twenty-something year olds, Regina is integrated into their circle of friends. Her snarky, standoffish front is just that - a front. It's not hard to tell that beneath the layers of sarcasm, she regards all of them with affection. (Even Mary Margaret, who Regina will claim she cannot stand.)

Regina starts to join them for Friday game night, and quickly proves that she can easily crush them all in Monopoly, Uno, Cards Against Humanity, and Scrabble. It's the first time since Friday game night was instilled that there are proposals to switch up partnerships. No one acts like a sore loser, though, not when Regina's adorable adopted son is around for distraction.

Killian is the latest victim to fall prey to little Henry's charms, bouncing the toddler around as he gives him a tour of the apartment he shares with David. Emma watches as Henry's chubby hands reach for Killian's face, grabbing at anything he can, and smiles.

Regina keeps her voice low as she observes the two of them with her son, her eyebrow furrowed as she gestures for David and Mary Margaret to lean in. "How long have Jones and Ms. Swan been together?"

"Emma and Killian? They're not together," Mary Margaret says, laughing. Regina shoots her a look of disbelief and David tries to school his features into the same kind of shocked amusement on his girlfriend's face.

Killian had told him to never tell anyone, long before he had met Mary Margaret. He wouldn't betray his friend's trust and admit that Killian had been in love with Emma the moment they bumped into each other in the hallway, not after going this many years keeping it a secret.

"Really? Well, they could have fooled me," Regina comments, her eyes tracking baby Henry. She had adopted him two years ago, but she still can't believe that she has a _son_ , not after the doctors had told her it would be impossible for her to conceive naturally. He's her miracle, and she's just glad that there are other people in the world who love him, even if they're a bunch of idiotic children pretending to be adults.

"He even keeps a picture of her in his office downtown," Regina adds as an afterthought.

David winces. _Seriously, Killian, why don't you just shout it from the rooftop? At least try to be subtle._

Mary Margaret frowns and looks at David carefully. "David, do you know something about that?"

"No," he says, all the while knowing his tone is a touch too defensive. "I mean, why is that worth mentioning? They've been best friends for years. I keep a picture of you at my desk."

"And I keep one of you on mine," Mary Margaret says slowly, "but we're in a relationship."

"Friendship is a kind of relationship." _Smooth_ , _David, smooth._

"You know what, nevermind," Regina cuts in. If she had known that bringing it up would cause the Charmings, as she has so affectionately dubbed the sickly sweet couple, to start to argue, she would have kept her mouth shut. The last thing she needs is to be in the middle of a lover's quarrel. "I didn't mean to make something out of nothing. Let's drop it."

Mary Margaret looks ready to protest, but there's a hint of command ringing in Regina's voice, and settles for glancing at Emma and Killian every few seconds.

Emma laughs as Henry reaches for her from his place on Killian's shoulders, her smile quickly turning into fear as Killian tries to hand the toddler to her. She adamantly shakes her head _no_ , because she's never been good with babies and she's sure as hell never had the chance to hold one, and what if he _breaks_? But then Killian is placing Henry in her arms and she's bouncing him instinctively, with little hands tangled in her hair and a big smile on all three of their faces.

Despite her better judgment, Regina lets a comment slip out. "They almost look like a family."

"Yeah," Mary Margaret says thoughtfully. "They almost do."

* * *

 _A/N: You know there's trouble when Mary Margaret decides to meddle..._

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	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: Sorry for the delay between chapters. My great-grandma passed away so I've been spending a lot of time with family. Next chapter is when things really start to pick up._

* * *

Killian is late.

If it was anyone else, Emma wouldn't have been concerned at all, but Killian is _never_ late. Of the two of them, Emma is usually the one running behind schedule because Killian has this freakish tendency to be exactly on time - something about good form and manners and all that. So when she checks her phone and sees that Killian should have arrived at Granny's over twenty minutes ago, she starts to worry.

She must have sent him a text every minute by now and honestly, if it were her, she'd be annoyed by the excessive amount of messages, but it's even more unusual for Killian to not give her any warning if he _is_ running late.

Emma is about to cave and call him when he rushes in through the door, his cheeks flushed from what must be exertion because it's certainly not cold enough outside yet. Killian slides into the booth across from her and she wants him to take a minute to catch his breath but he's already launching into an explanation.

"I am _so_ sorry, love. This is completely unacceptable, and I most certainly did not mean to leave you waiting for me for this long-"

Emma reaches across the table to take his hand, her eyebrows furrowed as she observes her best friend. "Are you okay? You look exhausted."

Emma has never had much tact, but she knows she's right in her observation of Killian. There are dark circles under his eyes and his face is paler than normal, and his hair is sticking up every which way - a telltale sign that he's stressed out.

Killian runs his free hand over his face and sighs. "Yeah, it's just - you know, midterms are coming up before Thanksgiving and it wouldn't be so bad, but a couple of my professors are taking a long holiday and are trying to cram as much material into these next few weeks as possible to make up for those extra days we'll be missing, and on top of that, Regina is driving me to the ground at the firm...anyway, my morning class was cancelled today so I figured I ought to try and catch up on sleep, but I slept through my alarm and that's why I was late."

Emma blinks. "Killian, I don't think I've ever heard you ramble as much as you did just now."

"Sorry," Killian mutters, wincing. "And I'm truly sorry that I was late."

"Don't even worry about it," Emma says, squeezing his hand before letting it fall away. "Do you want to just take a raincheck on lunch and go back to your apartment and sleep?"

"No, no," Killian replies, adamantly shaking his head so hard that Emma briefly wonders if he'll get whiplash. "I feel as though I haven't seen you in ages."

"It's been three days," Emma says dryly. "But I missed you too, dork."

Try as he might, Killian does a horrible job of trying to hide his exhaustion during lunch, and once their bill is paid, Emma hauls him to his feet and drags him back to his apartment. She practically shoves him into his room and points to his bed, telling him to sleep with a clear command in her voice, and settles onto the couch so that she can make sure he wakes up by the time he's supposed to be at his internship.

Killian lasts all of ten minutes in his bed before he finds Emma on the couch and tells her to budge over. He mumbles something about how she's the best pillow around and her eyebrows shoot to her hairline of their own accord, but he's asleep before she can even think of coming up with an appropriate response.

* * *

"Can we talk about Emma and Killian?" Mary Margaret asks, hands on her hips and tone clearly conveying that she is not willing to take no for an answer.

David sighs and runs a hand over his face, a quirk he knows he's picked up from his sister and roommate - one of the side effects of all of them spending nearly every waking moment together since they were sixteen. He looks up at his girlfriend, who he _adores_ and loves dearly, but knows can't keep a secret to save her life, and struggles to figure out what to say.

"What about Emma and Killian?" His response is weary, and he's been keeping this secret for so long that he's not sure he'll be able to deflect well enough this time. Still, Killian has never asked him for much, if anything at all, and David is determined to do this one thing for the person who can make Emma smile when no one else can.

"I don't know, it just seems like something's changed recently. You know I didn't really like him in the beginning, but he grew on me, and lately I've gotten the feeling that they're meant to be together. And then the other day, that stuff Regina said - she has a point, David," Mary Margaret says, pacing in front of the couch. "They act like a couple, and that thing she said about pining looks or whatever, Killian's been doing that for years. Emma's started to do it too."

David prides himself on knowing when to pick his fights and retreat from a lost cause, a skill that has served him well throughout the entire course of his relationship with Mary Margaret. He knows he can't keep her off of the war path she is now set on and silently apologizes to Killian, imagining his friend's creative execution of his murder all the while.

"Killian's, ah, Killian's sort of been in love with Emma since the day they met," David blurts out, watching as Mary Margaret's face goes from stubbornly contemplative to delighted, and he's not sure if it's delight at this revelation or the fact that she was right.

"I _knew_ it!"

"Mary Margaret, I love you, but no, you didn't know," David says.

"I called it like two minutes ago!"

"That is not the same as knowing that he's been in love with her for seven years."

"Well, it's not my fault! She was so happy with Neal. How was I supposed to know? And by the time I met all of you, I'm sure Killian was really good at hiding it. Wait," Mary Margaret says, frowning and staring at David. "If it's been seven years, why haven't you ever mentioned it to me?"

David winces. _Do I risk telling her the truth and offending her or can I avoid the question?_ He meets Mary Margaret's sharp gaze and can't suppress another grimace. He can't see himself winning in this situation.

"Killian asked me to never tell anyone."

"Yeah but that was seven years ago. And we've been together for five years, David. This is _huge_. You don't keep something like that a secret for so long! Especially not if two people are meant to be together!"

By the look on Mary Margaret's face, David knows that he's in for a long night of damage control.

* * *

 **Dude, don't hate me.**

Killian stares at the text from David and quickly runs through a list of minor betrayals that would warrant such a cryptic message from his roommate, and is ready to ask rapid fire questions about household matters when his phone lights up again.

 **Mary Margaret was asking about you and Emma. She knows.**

 _Dammit, Dave. She's almost the last person I wanted to know. The last being_ Emma.

 **I'd say don't worry because Mary Margaret promised not to say anything, but…**

 _I'll have a chat with her._

 **Do not hurt my girlfriend.**

 _I'm not a monster, Dave. Maybe if I talk to her, the delightful Mary Margaret will see reason and put an end to whatever infernal plan I'm sure she's concocted to bring me and Emma together._

 **Good luck, man.**

Killian knows he'll need it.

Of course, he isn't so delusional that he'd thought that he could keep his feelings for Emma a secret forever. The mere thought of her finding out is enough for anxiety to begin forming in Killian's stomach, because a life with unrequited love and Emma's constant presence is better than one without her at all.

He can't help but feel a semblance of hope, though. After all, Emma's behavior had been rather strange as of late. Killian's caught her sneaking glances at him and blushing on multiple occasions, and even David has mentioned that it's seems as though Emma's flirting with him. Maybe it's time he finally takes Mary Margaret's hope speeches to heart.

That doesn't mean that he wants Emma to find out from her.

It's only a matter of time before the secret gets out, but Killian thinks he can give himself a little longer to prepare himself - and Emma - before Mary Margaret takes things into her own hands if he can just talk to her and get her to see reason.

Mary Margaret and reason when it comes to "true love" have never mixed well.

* * *

Everyone is acting weird.

That's all Emma can think when she walks into Killian and David's apartment for an impromptu movie night. It was Mary Margaret's idea, which was strange in itself, but her intentions had seemed to be good enough. Killian was working himself too hard, she had insisted, and just the four of them hadn't spent quality time together in a while, so why not?

Emma is more than a little put off when the conversation stops as soon as she opens the door. Had she done something? Was there a giant stain on her shirt? Was it _see through_?

None of them will meet her eyes, and finally she asks, "What? Why are you guys being so weird?"

It's like a spell has been lifted, because Mary Margaret is suddenly rushing forward and taking her hands and sitting her down on the couch right next to Killian before dragging David from his spot on the other end to the loveseat. Emma pretends to politely listen to all of her friend's chatter and tilts her head so that Killian is the only one who can hear her.

"What is going on? You guys were acting like you'd been body snatched or something."

Emma has known Killian for too long to believe his forced chuckle, but she lets it go and waits for his response.

"Oh, you know Mary Margaret. Sometimes she just gets ideas into her head and won't rest until she sees them to fruition."

If Emma's not mistaken, Killian is doing everything he can to avoid looking at her, a feat made more difficult by their proximity to each other. She reaches out to poke his cheek and tug on his ear until he's forced to look at her, his expression a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

Emma grins. "That's better," she says in satisfaction, missing the pointed look Mary Margaret directs at David.

It's Disney movie night, a fact which solidifies the fact that this marathon is of Mary Margaret's construction. The boys will deny it to their graves, but Emma knows they love these movies as much as she and Mary Margaret do, if not more.

They're going in chronological order of Disney princesses, but for some reason, Mary Margaret skips over _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_. Emma, David, and Killian protest, and lose when Mary Margaret wrinkles her nose and says that she's just never been a big fan of that particular tale, because really, what kind of stepmother tries to kill a little girl for being prettier than her?

Killian rolls his eyes and Emma has to bite her lip to keep from laughing, nudging him with her elbow in a poor attempt to reprimand him. He catches her elbow the second time she attempts to dig it into his ribs, holding it to his chest and rendering her arm useless, and also making it so that the only way for her to be remotely comfortable is to settle into his side. Killian wraps his other arm around her shoulders without missing a beat, and he's long since let her arm go. Emma knows she can easily sit up and adjust herself into a more _proper_ position, but she's just fine where she is.

She forces herself to ignore the butterflies in her stomach and Killian's steady heartbeat against her back, and joins David and Mary Margaret in their off-key sing along to _Cinderella_.

* * *

 **Review?**


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: Thank you all for the positive messages and support! Also, shoutout to whoever added this fic to its first ever community! Y'all are the best. This chapter's a little shorter than most._

* * *

"Are you ignoring Mom's calls? Because she keeps on texting me to tell _you_ to pick up and it's getting a little excessive," David says, flopping onto Emma's bed with more force than she thinks is necessary.

"I'm not ignoring them, per say, but if I pick up she's going to ask me about my love life and I haven't even told her that Neal and I broke up," Emma mutters, busying herself with looking for a pair of shoes to avoid looking at her brother and the incredulous expression she knows will be on his face.

"Emma, seriously? How many months has it been?"

Emma sighs and abandons her search for her boots to sit next to David. "She _loved_ Neal, David. She's going to be so upset when she finds out we're not together anymore."

David shrugs and nudges Emma with his shoulder. "She might have loved Neal, but she loves you way more. Mom's not going to care if you're not with him, particularly. To her, it doesn't matter who you're with, or if you're with anyone at all, as long as you're happy."

Emma thinks of the first time she'd ever met Ruth, when David had all but dragged her to his house to be coddled by his mother. The way that David had originally insisted that they foster Emma, and how Ruth, reluctant at first, had taken one look at how miserable Emma was before starting to fill out the paperwork necessary to become a foster parent. How when Ruth asked Emma if she would like to officially join their family and be adopted, Emma had finally let herself hope again.

She likes to think that she was pretty lucky in the family department, eventually.

"I'll call her back when we get back from the store," Emma promises. David arches an eyebrow and she sighs. "Fine, I'll call her back now."

David's smile is nothing if not smug as he leaves her room, cheekily instructing her to take her time since he'd planned on going grocery shopping with Mary Margaret from the beginning. Emma rolls her eyes and is sorting through which of Killian's rather creative curses she can use when her phone starts ringing and Ruth's voice comes through.

"Emma, honey?"

"Hi, Mom," Emma says, laying back on her bed. Just the sound of her adopted mother's voice is enough to make her feel sixteen again. "Sorry I haven't been answering your calls. Things have been kind of hectic lately."

"Oh, tell me what's been going on."

Emma takes a deep breath and launches into all of the details about her breakup with Neal, Killian and Milah's relationship, hers with Walsh, and leaves nothing out, including their strange battle (more like dance) with the billionaire Robert Gold. She updates Ruth on what her days consist of now that she's single - breakfast with Killian, work until lunch, which she has with Killian, followed by dinner and movies or games with all four of them. She tells her mom how Killian mercilessly drags her out of bed and to the park to go jogging every Saturday, but always rewards her with Granny's afterwards. Emma slowly shifts from catching Ruth up on her life to talking about Killian, and what he's been up to lately, and how she's worried he's stretching himself a bit too thin between his internship with Regina and class and -

"Emma, sweetie, slow down," Ruth says, chuckling over the phone. "You know, Thanksgiving is coming up, and I already expect you, your brother, and Mary Margaret to be at the house, but if you're so worried about Killian, why don't you invite him along as well? He's always welcome here."

"That's a great idea! Thanks, Mom. I always feel better after I talk to you," Emma admits. "And I promise I'll be better about calling."

"What are mothers for?"

* * *

For once, Emma is trying to ignore the sound of Killian incessantly tapping his highlighter against his notebook, reasoning with herself as she does so. He's under a lot of stress, he has midterms soon, but _God_ is it annoying.

"Killian - stop - please," Emma says, finally caving and reaching out to grab hold of the offending highlighter and the hand it's in. She lets go and her warning glare when the cap of the highlighter hits the page is met by a sheepish grin.

The tapping starts again not even a minute later.

"Jones, I swear," Emma repeats, a fake warning clear in her tone to accompany her mocking glare.

"Swear what, Swan?" Killian asks cheekily, finally setting the obnoxious orange highlighter down. "Do tell."

Emma merely rolls her eyes in response, not wanting to forfeit her small victory by allowing Killian to get under her skin. Her mind unwittingly starts to drift towards _other_ things Killian could get under before she forcefully pushes all of those thoughts away, more than a little horrified at herself. Innocently flirting with her best friend was one thing, but she was getting dangerously close to crossing a line that she'd promised herself she never would.

"Oh! Mom invited you back to our house for Thanksgiving," Emma blurts out, more as a way to distract herself than because she suddenly remembered the invitation Ruth had extended to Killian. She can't even trust her own thoughts anymore.

Killian's eyebrows shoot up, and Emma can't blame him. Her own unusual abruptness aside, Killian's never been one to really celebrate Thanksgiving, and normally Emma would be fine with letting him carry on with his regular routine, but this year is different.

This year, there's a part of Emma that doesn't want to be without him for that long, even if it's only a week.

That terrifies her.

She's been anxious about being away from Killian before, but she could easily dismiss it as simply trying to cling on one of the few friends she has. Now, she's not so sure.

"While I still don't particularly understand the concept of Thanksgiving, who am I to deny the lovely Ruth my charming presence at dinner?" Killian's grin coaxes a smile out of Emma, which quickly disappears when his ridiculous tapping starts again.

* * *

"Emma just texted. She said Killian's gonna come home with us for Thanksgiving," David says, his phone already back on the couch and his attention fixed to the screen once more. Normally Mary Margaret would be playing Kingdom Hearts with him, but she had claimed that she wasn't in the mood for video games today.

If you ask David, his girlfriend is plotting.

To his knowledge, he hasn't done anything to warrant her wrath lately, so he's not too concerned. He feels sorry for the suckers who are involved, though. Mary Margaret's heart is always in the right place, but that doesn't always actually make it right.

"Killian and Emma met back home in Storybrooke, right?"

"Uh, yeah. We all did," David replies, keeping his eyes on the TV. "When we were fifteen or sixteen."

"Do you think that maybe, being back there, they'll both realize that they should be with each other? And not other people?"

David blinks and pauses his game. " _What_?"

He should have known that the poor suckers were Emma and Killian.

"Think about it - they'll go back to where they met and became best friends, and if you combine that nostalgia with the magic of any holiday, one of them could have a life-changing realization and see that it's true love!"

He loves that Mary Margaret is a hopeless romantic, he does, but he can still see the downsides of her having that particular trait.

"I think that it'd be great if that happened, _naturally_ , but it won't be any good if it's forced. If they're going to be together, they need to figure it out _on their own_." _Please get the hint._

"Sometimes all people need is a little push in the right direction," Mary Margaret says, her smile betraying how pleased she is with herself for whatever path to happy ever after she's dreamed up this time.

"This isn't gonna be good," David mutters under his breath, Mary Margaret humming under her breath as she picks up his controller and effortlessly beats the level he's been stuck on for three days.

* * *

Killian is sitting in his cubicle, studiously checking for all of the dates that the senior partner overseeing his work had asked him to for the new case they were working on. It's a civil dispute, and not where Killian's passion really lies, but he's determined to prove himself to the firm and Regina. Besides, once he's done, he can go back to studying for his rapidly approaching exams.

He's always had a good work ethic, but his attention span is something he's had to hone over the years. Killian occasionally finds himself seeking out distractions, and he supposes that the choice to put a framed picture of himself and Emma on his desk was some kind of self-inflicted torture in the making. He has a deadline to make, but his eyes keep flicking to the photo of them on their graduation day. There are more pictures in his cramped cubicle, some featuring David and Mary Margaret or his brother Liam, but Emma is the most constant subject.

He had been selective when choosing which pictures to display, but the one of him and Emma in their caps and gowns, him wrapping some of his honor cords around her neck while she pretends to roll her eyes, is his favorite. Neal had been less than thrilled when they had taken that picture, which only made Killian love it more. Back when Emma was still with Neal, Killian had taken all the miniscule victories he could.

Now, things are different. Killian's starting to wonder if perhaps, for the first time ever, he doesn't have to settle for comfort and familiarity and friendship.

Maybe he can have more.

He's tried to keep himself from hoping - a dangerous thing, that - but even Liam had told him it sounded as though Emma's feelings for him had changed when he relayed recent events over a FaceTime call. Killian had told his brother of her increasing propensity to initiate physical contact and the uncharacteristic flirtatiousness, as well as the absurd amount of times he had caught Emma staring at him when she thought he wasn't looking. He's seen her blush more times in the past month than all of high school.

Surely he wasn't imagining all of that.

Imagination or no, Killian doesn't want to push Emma before she's ready. He's seen her at her most defensive, her walls sky high as people had passed through her life, but he had always been standing right next to her through it all. He'd do anything to not be on the other side of the walls that guard her heart so carefully.

Killian had made the decision to bide his time long ago. He'd go to the ends of the earth for her - or time, for that matter. She's more than worth the wait.

* * *

 **Review?**


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: Back to witches and wizards and magical beasts...the gang is heading back to Storybrooke for a magical feast._

* * *

After a ridiculous amount of debating and even more ridiculous presentations put on by everyone to prove their points, it's decided that they will take Mary Margaret's car back home to Storybrooke, and that David will drive. While Killian's car actually has the most trunk space, he won't allow anyone else to drive it, and he has a tendency to brake abruptly - not the best combination with Mary Margaret's susceptibility to motion sickness (something she had used to claim shotgun before they had even decided who would be driving). Mary Margaret, David, and Killian can agree on one thing, however - there's no way they're taking what Killian calls Emma's "metal death trap" back to Maine.

Emma packs lightly, despite Mary Margaret's insistence that one can never have too many dresses. Usually, neither of them overpack for trips, but this will be the first time Mary Margaret is staying in her boyfriend's childhood home, and Emma knows she's nervous.

Emma's long gotten out of the habit of not having enough stuff to overpack with, but why cram clothes into your suitcase when you can steal your best friend's hoodie instead?

"Do you think I'll need something a little dressier? Should I pack a pair of heels? Should I even bother packing leggings? Is that too informal?"

"Mary Margaret, you have got to calm down," Emma says, blinking at her friend in surprise before reaching out to take her hands. "It's not a state dinner. Just pack clothes you're comfortable in."

Mary Margaret takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I know, I guess I'm just, I don't know, intimidated."

"By Ruth?"

Mary Margaret shrugs. "No, of course not. Well, maybe. Not _by_ her, exactly, but David absolutely adores her and what if she doesn't like me and what if it's awkward and it all goes terribly?"

Despite the pang of sympathy that Emma feels for Mary Margaret, she can't help but laugh. "Both Mom and David adore _you_. She loves that you make him happy, so she loves you. It'll be fine, I promise." Emma waits until Mary Margaret gives her a small nod before continuing. "Besides, this is a big step for you guys, isn't it? That's exciting!"

Emma has a feeling that Mary Margaret couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto her face if she tried.

"It is exciting, isn't it?" Mary Margaret's smile turns into something sweeter, and while Emma isn't sure she believes true love is real, her friend's relationship with David is almost enough to convince her otherwise.

Almost.

* * *

Mary Margaret inevitably ends up over packing for their week-long trip, from her clothes to her shoes to the snacks she insists on bringing. (To be fair, the snacks are a good idea, especially considering how hangry David and Emma can get.)

The bag of snacks takes up so much space that Emma is forced to sit in the uncomfortable middle seat in the back of Mary Margaret's car to accommodate it. She groans out loud at the prospect of spending the entire road trip from Boston to Maine with her legs bent awkwardly and having to pass out snacks, but internally, she doesn't mind. Not when Killian wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, claiming that he doesn't want to hear her griping about how miserable she is for the next five hours.

Even though they're leaving in the middle of the day and Emma is well-caffeinated, she finds herself starting to drift off during the second hour. The four of them were eager to get going and play mindless road trip games at the start, but then David had reached over to hold Mary Margaret's hand as he drove and the two of them had started to talk quietly. Wanting to give them some semblance of privacy, Emma turns her face further into Killian's chest and closes her eyes in an attempt to nap, the sound of her friends' soft conversation and Killian's even breathing lulling her into sleep.

Killian follows not long after, his cheek resting against the top of Emma's head and the patterns he had been tracing into her arm slowing. Neither of them are awake to see the way Mary Margaret focuses on them from the rearview mirror, or the smug smile she gives David afterwards.

"Do not say 'I told you so,'" David warns, but there's humor and affection laced in his voice. This time, it wouldn't be so bad if Mary Margaret ended up being right.

"I was going to do no such thing," Mary Margaret says primly.

"Yeah, right," David replies, chuckling.

Killian wakes up first, a bump in the road jostling him so that his head falls back against the headrest. He blinks slowly, slightly disoriented, and checks to make sure Emma is still asleep before clearing his throat.

"How far out are we?" Killian asks, absentmindedly weaving his fingers through Emma's hair. She lets out a quiet sigh of contentment in her sleep and a small smile tugs at the corners of Killian's mouth. He just hopes David is too focused on driving to notice.

"A little less than two hours. You guys slept for a while," David says, his voice low. His eyes flick to a dozing Mary Margaret in the passenger seat and Killian nods in understanding. While Mary Margaret is one of the sweetest people he knows, he's far too familiar with her infamous grumpy attitude when woken from a deep sleep. (He's been at the wrong end of her wrath too many times to count.)

"She's nervous, you know," Killian says after a while. Emma shifts against him, snuggling deeper into his chest, and he's glad she's asleep, for if she'd been awake she surely would have noticed the increase in his heart rate.

"Mary Margaret? Why? She's met my mother before."

Killian lifts the shoulder that Emma's not laying on in an attempt at a shrug. "She might've met your mum, but now she's staying with you in her house. I know I'd be intimidated."

David sighs and glances at his sleeping girlfriend again. She lets out a quiet snore and he takes that as a cue that it's safe to talk. Luckily for him, she's always slept like the dead.

"If anything, I'm the one that should be nervous," David admits, his hands tightening on the wheel.

"Why's that, mate?" Killian asks, wishing that he could reach the bag of popcorn without waking Emma up.

Instead of replying, David reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box, handing it to Killian before focusing back on the road. Killian stares at the box in his hand, his jaw dropping ever so slightly. When he opens it, he's met with an emerald set in a silver band. An untraditional choice, certainly, but one that suits Mary Margaret and David perfectly.

"Congratulations, Dave. I've never seen two people more meant for each other than you and Mary Margaret. I'm happy for you, truly," Killian says, clapping David on the shoulder and slipping the box containing the ring back into his hand.

"Thanks," David says, grinning widely. "It's my mom's ring, actually. She gave it to me to give to Mary Margaret. That's part of the reason she insisted that you come along. I wanted you and Emma to be there when I propose."

"Isn't that sweet?" Killian teases. "When are you planning on proposing?"

"The day before Thanksgiving," David says, turning the box around a few times in his hand before carefully slipping it into his pocket. "She's always wanted a summer wedding outside, so I figure we'll have enough time to get all the details taken care of from now 'til August."

"You will," Emma chimes in softly, having woken up when Killian had handed the ring back to David. She had kept her eyes closed, letting the two roommates have their moment. Now she reaches out to squeeze her brother's shoulder, her smile genuine and her eyes suspiciously bright.

"Sorry I didn't tell you, Emma," David says, covering her hand with his. "I didn't want to risk Mary Margaret finding out, but I wanted to tell you as soon as I got the ring from Mom."

Emma shakes her head. "David, seriously, don't even worry about that. I'm just so happy for you."

"Thanks, guys. I mean it."

The three of them grin at each other, and Emma knows they're all thinking the same thing. Mary Margaret and David are _finally_ going to get married.

* * *

"Oh, my babies, come here," Ruth exclaims, rushing out of the house with her arms wide open as soon as she hears a car pull into the driveway.

"Hi, Mom," David and Emma say in unison, exchanging grins before they're engulfed in a group hug. They might be in their early twenties now, but they will always be Ruth's babies.

"Killian Jones, it has been far too long since you've come around to visit," Ruth scolds, her reprimand softened by the affectionate smile she gives him.

Killian smiles back at her and returns her hug readily. "Apologies, dear Ruth. I promise I'll burden you with my presence more often."

"Good," Ruth says, beaming. Emma glances over her shoulder to see Mary Margaret trying to suppress her own smile. It's easy to see where David gets his dimples and laugh lines from.

While they had never been well off, Ruth and David Nolan had taken Emma in without so much as a second thought. It had worked out pretty perfectly, with Ruth's modest, three-bedroom house having just the right amount of coziness and privacy that Emma had so desperately needed at that time in her life. The Nolans were her family, blood be damned, and Emma can't help but think that the lucky blue star candle she had wished on right before meeting them had something to do with it.

"Now, sweetheart, I don't bite. No need to be shy. We hug in this family," Ruth informs Mary Margaret, beckoning her forward.

Emma steps back to give Ruth, David, and Mary Margaret a chance to talk. She's not sure when, but Killian had gone back to the car while she had greeted her adoptive mother, and she watches as he piles their luggage on the ground before joining him.

"Hey," she says quietly, a corner of her mouth lifting when his head immediately snaps up so that he can look at her. If Emma didn't know better, she'd swear that Killian's eyes light up when he sees her.

"Hey, beautiful," Killian replies, like it's nothing, like the sound of his voice isn't enough to warm Emma from her head to her toes. Like it's not the last thing she wants to hear before she sleeps, or the first thing she wants to hear when she wakes, because he doesn't know.

He can never know.

"I cannot wait to relax on the living room couch. I never imagined I'd be one to miss a piece of furniture, but there is something magical about Ruth's sofa."

Killian's admission shakes Emma out of her contemplation of him, and she raises an eyebrow. "Seriously, we're back in our hometown and the first thing you can think of is my mom's _couch_?"

Killian shrugs unapologetically. "What can I say, Swan? I happen to have good memories on that couch."

She smiles at that, because she does too. Nights spent with her legs tangled in his, their backs on opposite ends of the couch as they talked about their families, classes, college. Movie marathons during three day weekends, the both of them determined to finish the entire Harry Potter series in one sitting even though they always got distracted, competing to see who memorized the most lines and could mimic accents the best. (Killian, it was always Killian, but he'd give the victory to Emma because of his unfair advantage of having grown up around English and Irish accents - he'd give her anything, if she asked for it, and even if she didn't.)

"I'm rather looking forward to spending my stay there," Killian continues, grabbing her duffle bag and hoisting it over his shoulder before picking up his own.

Emma frowns. "What do you mean, spending your stay there?"

"Well, I expect David and Mary Margaret will be sharing his room, you'll be in yours, and I certainly don't expect your mother to go out of her way to accommodate me. I'll be perfectly comfortable on the couch, I assure you."

She's known Killian for years, but his insistent chivalry still makes her roll her eyes and smile at the same time. "Don't be stupid. You can bunk with me."

His eyebrows shoot up and Emma fights to keep herself from blushing. She has to remind herself that there's nothing wrong with her offer. They've shared a bed before, and Killian used to crash at Ruth's whenever his older brother Liam had to work late at the docks. There's nothing wrong with two old friends, _best_ friends, sharing a bed for a couple of days.

At least, that's what Emma tells herself.

"If you're sure," Killian says dubiously.

"I'm sure."

* * *

 **Review?**


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: Shoutout to anyone who caught my A Very Potter Musical reference in the last chapter! This story was originally intended to be around five chapters, but here we are at twenty! To commemorate us getting this far, this chapter is longer than usual._

* * *

Ruth's house is the same as it was when they were still in high school. She had left both David's and Emma's rooms untouched, and Killian lingers on the stairs to the second floor, his fingers tracing over the framed pictures of Emma decorating the left and completely ignoring the ones of David on the right. Luckily, Emma is already upstairs, but Killian has to pretend he doesn't hear David pointedly clear his throat behind him. He doesn't have to look in a mirror to know that the tips of his ears have turned bright red.

He doesn't say anything when he walks into Emma's room. She's sitting cross legged on her bed, sorting her clothes by a system only she is privy to. She looks up when Killian leans against the doorframe, a smile on her lips. Killian is starting to recognize it as one Emma only uses for him, and the thought alone is almost enough to make his heart stop in his chest.

"It feels like ages since I've stepped foot in here," Killian remarks, his smile matching Emma's.

"I know," Emma says, her voice adopting a wistful tone as she looks around. Something catches her eye, though, and her nostalgic smile is transformed into a mischievous smirk. "Do you think any of the alcohol we stashed in the loose floorboard is still there?"

Killian barks out a laugh and shakes his head. "For your mother's sake, I actually hope it is. How would she feel if she knew how often her precious children got drunk while they were in high school?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "You make me sound like a delinquent."

It's Killian's turn to smirk. "I'm merely stating facts, love."

He starts unpacking, tidily stowing away his clothes in one of the drawers that Emma isn't using. Killian doesn't allow himself to think about what he's doing for too long, thoughts of how his things fit in with Emma's seamlessly already burned into his mind.

A scoff escapes Killian when he sees socks and sweaters haphazardly strewn around Emma. He doesn't hesitate, immediately folding her crumpled clothing and tucking it away. He _tsks_ at the mess, but he's not really bothered by it, not when Emma is giving him her sweetest smile. Killian hangs up the rest of his clothes, but not before he tosses Emma the flannel that he knows is his favorite. (Judging by her grin, she's expected this all along.)

He turns around to stop a sweatshirt from falling off the hanger, and Emma must have forgotten about the mirror doors of her closet, because Killian can't imagine that she wants him to see her hold up his shirt and _smell_ it.

Emma Swan is smelling his shirt.

His. Killian Jones'. He's well aware that his mouth is ajar and quickly snaps it shut, practically slamming the closet shut in his haste. He mutters a lame excuse about needing to talk to David before all but running out of the room, leaving a shocked Emma behind.

* * *

"She _smelled_ it?" David asks, frowning. For the life of him, he can't figure out what would possess anyone, especially his sister, to smell Killian's shirt.

Killian nods adamantly, lifting his hands in the air to show David that he is equally befuddled by the situation. He's not one to ask for advice about women, _especially_ from David, but he needs to talk to the person who knows Emma best. (After himself, of course, but that's a given.)

"I don't think she knows I saw, else she wouldn't have done it, but mate, I've no idea what this means," Killian says rapidly, the words escaping him before he can stop. To his surprise, he feels comfortable discussing Emma with David, but upon further reflection, it makes sense. David's kept Killian's feelings for Emma a secret for years, after all.

"Could it have been because it smelled bad?" David offers dubiously, but Killian is notorious for his cleanliness and they both know that can't be the case.

"She's been acting rather strangely lately, but this is far beyond me," Killian admits. He had been going insane the past hour, waiting for a chance to speak with David, until Ruth had unknowingly thrown him a lifeline and asked if the boys wouldn't mind picking up some things from the store for dinner. David had sighed dramatically, but he wouldn't deny his mother anything, and Killian was all too ready to jump at a chance to talk in private.

David pauses in one of the refrigerated aisles, glancing down at the list Ruth had given them and putting several boxes of butter into the cart. "I don't even want to know what she's doing with so much butter," David mutters. He continues walking and hums contemplatively. "And you've never told Emma you're in love with her, right?"

Killian's eyes grow wide at the words _in love_ and he tries to deny it, tries to dismiss it as a childhood crush, a thing of the past, but he can't. He won't lie to David, and he certainly won't lie to himself.

He's been in love with Emma Swan since the moment he set eyes on her.

"Of course I haven't told her that," Killian says indignantly. "How well do you think that conversation would go over, mate?"

David merely shrugs, unperturbed by the bite in Killian's voice. His roommate and sister react to talking about their feelings the same way, and he's more than used to it.

"Even if you don't tell her that, exactly, I think it might be a conversation worth having," David says calmly, carefully adding two cartons of eggs to his growing mound of groceries. "You guys can't be stuck in your weird purgatory forever."

Killian huffs, but he doesn't disagree, and David takes that as a win.

* * *

Emma can tell that something strange is going on when David and Killian keep sneaking off together to have hurried, whispered conversations, but she dismisses it without a second thought. It's the day before Thanksgiving and she knows David is nervous about proposing to Mary Margaret, even though he shouldn't be. There's no doubt in anyone's mind that Mary Margaret will say yes, no matter how he chooses to propose.

It must be nice to have that kind of reassurance.

But she's not bitter, she really isn't. In fact, she's never been happier. Two of the most important people in her life are going to get engaged. Emma knows this isn't a loss; instead of losing out, she's gaining something invaluable - another family member.

Deep down, Emma knows Mary Margaret's been family for years.

She lingers on the back porch, her, Killian, and Ruth hidden in the shadows. They watch as David gets down on one knee and Mary Margaret immediately pulls him back up to kiss him, her exclamations of agreeing to marry him rather high pitched for someone who prides herself on being level-headed.

Emma feels the sting of tears and tries her best to suppress them, a sniffle escaping her before she can stop it. She hears Killian's quiet chuckle before he wraps her in a hug, his nose in her hair.

"It's okay, Swan. It's not everyday you get to see your brother and best friend get engaged," he says, and she can hear his smile in his voice. Emma nods, not trusting herself to speak, but she knows Killian understands. He always understands.

The three of them duck back into the house to give David and Mary Margaret some time alone. Ruth disappears into the pantry, hunting down a bottle of champagne she claims she's saved for this exact occasion. Emma's exasperated sigh as she fishes out the champagne flutes is more fond than anything. She loves her mother, but the woman has a tendency to forget where she's placed things, and Emma is usually the one who has to find them.

Once everything is set up for the celebration according to Ruth's liking, Emma and Killian settle onto the couch, their knees touching and shoulders bumping. For some reason, Killian's ears are pink, and Emma is a little suspicious that their close proximity is the cause.

"How long do you think it'll take them to come back to reality and come inside?" Emma asks to break the somewhat awkward silence that's fallen over them. She can't even remember a time when the quiet between them had been anything less than comfortable, and she doesn't like it. "I bet an hour."

Killian is staring at her wrist, and Emma's eyes follow his. She scrunches her forehead in confusion, because he's either completely entranced by the shirt she's wearing (the flannel one he had tossed at her earlier) or her buttercup tattoo, but neither makes sense. She has to wave her hand in front of his face to regain his attention, and frowns when she realizes he has no idea what she's just said.

"What's up with you today?" Emma asks, her concern beating out her annoyance at how distracted Killian is.

That is, until she sees how much effort he's putting into not looking at her.

"Killian," Emma snaps. His flinch is almost minor enough to go unnoticed, but she sees it. (Of course she sees it.) Emma forces herself to soften her tone and tries again. "Killian, come on, what's bothering you?"

Emma is growing more worried by the second and when Killian hesitates again, she reaches out to take his hand.

"Talk to me."

His eyes finally meet hers and Emma's breath catches in her throat, because she recognizes this look. She sees it every time David and Mary Margaret look at each other, and she's caught herself looking at Killian this way more times than she'd care to admit.

He's looking at her like she's everything.

Maybe it's because her brother and best friend have just gotten engaged, or maybe it's because she's tired of pretending like she doesn't have feelings for the one person who's been by her side for everything, by choice instead of obligation, or maybe it's simply because she _wants_ to, but Emma grabs hold of the collar of Killian's shirt and pulls him forward, finally kissing him the way she's wanted to for (let's be honest) years.

Killian is shocked at first, Emma can tell, but he recovers quickly, his mouth moving against hers and his hand sliding up to anchor itself in her hair. And, God, this is so much better than she could have imagined - _had_ imagined - and she doesn't even care that someone can easily walk in on them, because she is kissing Killian and he's kissing her back.

A part of Emma knows that there was never any doubt that he would, but she's too busy to care.

Emma pulls away first, both of her hands still clutching Killian's button up (with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and Jesus, if that hadn't strained her self control). She doesn't make it very far, their foreheads touching and noses brushing as they both try to get their breath back.

"That was -" Killian breathes, and Emma understands the feeling.

"Yeah," she whispers, Killian's surprised, uncertain grin coaxing a smile out of her. "Yeah."

She can tell that Killian expects her to get up, run, do anything to avoid having a conversation that might change their friendship, and she sort of expects that herself. Emma pauses and kisses Killian again, and she has to force herself to break away this time.

It's only when Killian's grip on her loosens that Emma realizes how tightly he had been holding on.

"Hey," she says quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."

Despite the fact that they were just making out, it's what she says that makes Killian go scarlet.

He presses a quick kiss to her nose and clears his throat. "You know, Swan, I quite fancy you from time to time. When you're not yelling at me." If possible, his face becomes even more red, and she lets go of his shirt to thumb at his jaw.

"You don't say," Emma teases, and even she can tell that her laugh is borderline giddy. She _feels_ giddy and tries to remember the last time she's ever used that word to describe herself, if ever.

Of course it's Killian who brings that out in her.

"So this wasn't a one time thing?" Killian inquires, his eyes on the hand that's playing with Emma's hair. He's obviously trying to keep his voice casual, and it's not unwarranted.

It's Emma's fault, that he thinks she'll try and dismiss it, act like it never happened, but she doesn't want to. She's happier than she's been for a long time.

"Definitely not a one time thing," Emma says firmly, kissing him again for emphasis. (And because she wants to.)

Killian nods slowly, reaching up to cup her face like she's something precious. When she meets his eyes, she knows that, to him, she is.

"And we'll talk about it later? When there's more time?" Killian is being careful, watching her for signs of flight like a wild animal, and Emma can't blame him.

"We will talk about it," Emma promises. "As soon as we can escape my charming family."

Killian's grin is more genuine this time. He's well aware of how enthusiastic the newly engaged couple and Ruth can be - this impending celebration will last until someone (probably Mary Margaret) finally caves and goes to bed. Voices drift over from the kitchen, and Emma knows that they only have a few seconds before they're summoned. Killian seems to come to the same conclusion because he kisses Emma's forehead and stands up, grabbing her hands and hauling her to her feet after him.

"C'mon, love, before we're missed."

Emma works to get her face under control because she's beaming and as dense as they are, David and Mary Margaret are bound to notice. She holds on to Killian's hand until the last possible second, squeezing it in silent reassurance before they reach the kitchen and she has to let go. Mary Margaret and Ruth are already discussing wedding details, with David interjecting every now and then with suggestions that immediately get shut down, because _really, David, where on Earth are they going to find fifty white doves_?

Emma pats David's back sympathetically when he joins her and Killian and leans against the island. "To be fair, that wasn't the most practical idea."

"Well she's always talking about having a fairytale wedding," David grumbles, but there's no heat in his voice, not when he's clearly overjoyed.

Emma merely smiles, because while Mary Margaret might dream of having a wedding fit for a princess, she'd be happy getting married in Ruth's backyard, as long as David is waiting for her at the altar.

Killian finds small ways to show Emma affection throughout the celebration, ones that go unseen by everyone else. She feels his hand on the small of her back whenever he passes by and her cheeks grow warmer with every look he sends her way, and she has to wonder why she's never noticed the way he looks at her before.

She's been an idiot, and has a lot of time to make up for, but luckily for her, Killian has always been patient.

It doesn't take long for Mary Margaret to excuse herself and call it a night. She kisses David on the cheek and tells him to take his time, and gives Ruth a big hug before going upstairs. Emma watches her adopted mother and brother for a minute and wraps them both in a hug of her own. She doesn't say anything - she doesn't have to. There are tears in all of their eyes when Emma finally lets go, hastily swiping at her eyes as she retreats to her bedroom, Killian close behind her.

* * *

Emma disappears into the bathroom to change into her pajamas, leaving Killian in her room to process (wonder) at what's just happened. He doesn't take long to change - he had packed the matching set Emma had given him as a joke, the one with the sailboat shirt and the flannel pants with anchors on them - and hesitates. He had already been concerned about sharing a bed with Emma, but now that they've kissed, he's strongly considering sleeping on the couch because he doesn't know how much self-control he has, not when he knows exactly what kissing Emma Swan is like.

It's better than he'd ever imagined.

"Hey," Emma says, gently closing the door behind her. Her smile is soft, shy, and Killian immediately knows that he's not going anywhere tonight.

"I can sleep on the floor," Killian offers, before Emma can try and convince him otherwise.

She's trying not to laugh, but she's not trying very hard. "Don't be silly. You're safe from me for one night," Emma says, her words laced with enough amusement that Killian returns to his normal self, albeit a tinge more thoughtful.

"Just one night, I hope." He hopes his smirk is ridiculous enough to let her know that he's merely jesting, and from her surprised laugh, it is.

"Come on, dork. Let's go to sleep."

Part of Killian wants to insist that they talk about what their kiss means for their relationship, but he's blissfully happy right now and doesn't want to do anything that might risk that, so he does what Emma says and climbs into bed next to her. It's weird at first, until Emma rolls over and props herself up on her elbows to look at him and his arms immediately go around her. She wriggles a bit until she's comfortable, her bony limbs digging into Killian's sides multiple times, but he doesn't care. Not when he gets to hold her like this.

"Goodnight," Emma says, kissing him once, twice, three times, before pulling back, Killian chasing her lips when she does. She lets out a giggle that would normally make her want to hide under a rock in embarrassment, but Killian's grin just widens.

He sincerely doubts that he'll be able to get any sleep like this (not that he minds, of course). Emma is pretending to have fallen asleep quickly, but her body language is still tense, and Killian decides to indulge himself and lazily run his hand up and down her back. Emma slowly relaxes, but it's not until she starts to snore that Killian allows himself to close his eyes.

* * *

 _A/N: I know what you're all thinking - FINALLY. It only took these two idiots twenty chapters to finally kiss! Not sure how much longer the story will be after this, but you can expect at least five more chapters._

 **Review?**


	21. Chapter 21

_One night he wakes, strange look on his face_

 _Pauses, then says, you're my best friend_

 _And you knew what it was, he is in love_

 _You can hear it in the silence_

 _You can feel it on the way home_

 _You can see it with the lights out_

 _You are in love, true love_

 _-You Are In Love, Taylor Swift_

* * *

Killian is startled awake at precisely 4:36 in the morning when an arm is unceremoniously flung across his face. He blinks a few times before he is able to process what is happening and has to hold back a laugh, because if there's one thing he should have remembered about Emma Swan, it's that she likes to use her bedmates as a personal punching bag.

He lays still, trying not to wake her, even though she's currently nudging her ice cold feet between his legs and he can feel how frozen they are through his pajamas. He doesn't know how, but Emma constantly has cold hands and feet - something about poor circulation, although he is all too aware that she's been using that as an excuse to get him to warm her up (an act that he will perform gladly, anytime, anywhere).

Emma shifts again - does this woman ever stop moving? - and Killian caves, an exasperated chuckle escaping him. She can hog all the sheets and kick him as many times as she wants; he knows he's a lucky man to be sharing a bed with her.

"Why are you awake?" Emma mumbles against his shoulder, her voice groggy with sleep. Killian just hopes she won't notice the way his pulse jumps.

" _Someone_ decided to wake me up by hitting me in the face," Killian teases, pressing a light kiss to the top of Emma's head to let her know he's kidding. It's something he's done plenty of times before and it's as easy as breathing, but now it makes his heart skip a beat.

"Sorry," Emma says sheepishly. She lifts her chin just enough to look up at him, her eyes soft and searching, and Killian can't help himself.

He boops her on the nose.

Emma's laugh cuts through the quiet of her childhood bedroom, and even while Killian pretends to scold and shush her, his mouth quirks up in a lopsided grin. Emma rolls her eyes and starts to call him a dork, but he leans down and kisses her before she can get the word out.

"Hi," Emma says, just on the brink of being shy. She reaches up to card her fingers through his hair, her other palm flat against his chest, and Killian might be biased, but he doesn't think he's ever seen her look so content. (He's definitely biased.)

"Hi," Killian whispers back. "I didn't mean to wake you."

He must be dreaming still, because Emma presses a kiss to his jaw and says, "I'm glad you did."

Even though Killian's barely gotten any sleep, being near Emma has always been more effective than caffeine when it comes to waking him up.

"This is weird," Emma says, giggling (that's twice that she's giggled since they've kissed - twice more than she has in the past year).

"I've always been rather fond of weird," Killian informs her, his lips brushing across her forehead. It's as though their initial kiss opened floodgates - now, he can't refrain from kissing her every chance he gets.

"We should be trying to sleep."

Killian smirks, and the words are tumbling out before he can think about what he's saying, and the possible implications they might have. "Are you afraid we're going to be caught out by your mum?"

As usual, Emma matches him step for step.

"Do you think what we're doing warrants a scolding from my mother?" Emma arches an eyebrow at him in a silent challenge and Killian's never loved her more.

It's nice to be able to admit that he loves Emma Swan. (It's much more than nice.)

"Killian?"

There's a new timidness in Emma's voice, an uncertainty that he's not used to hearing. Killian closes his eyes briefly, because while every fiber of his being had come alive when Emma kissed him, he's not sure he has the emotional capacity to have this particular conversation before the sun has even risen.

"What is it, love?"

Emma pauses, a strange look crossing over her face. Killian's heart nearly stops in his chest, and he braces himself for the worst.

"You're my best friend," Emma says quietly, dropping her gaze from his. Killian exhales loudly, the sound an odd mix of a sigh of relief and a chuckle.

"And you are mine."

Emma smiles, and Killian quickly realizes that he is not the only one who's nervous about this change to their relationship. He settles for using affection as reassurance, shifting so that he can cup Emma's face in his hands before he kisses her.

God, does he love kissing her.

She makes the tiniest of sounds, a sweet, startled thing, and then she's moving against him in a way that she has no right to be doing while her mother and brother are sound asleep just a few rooms over.

 _Bloody minx_.

"Are you trying to torture me?" Killian chokes out when Emma pulls away, a self satisfied smirk on her face.

"Just trying to make up for lost time," she says innocently enough, and Killian has to catch her hand because she's trailing it across his stomach and shows no signs of stopping and he is _trying_ to be a gentleman, but she seems hell-bent on testing his resolve.

"Bad form, darling. Very bad form," Killian scolds (at least, he tries to).

Emma laughs and kisses him again, and all of Killian's protests die on his lips. "Sorry, I'll try to behave myself. I make no promises about when we get home, though."

"Good," Killian says, and he's almost certain that he's wearing the goofiest of grins. He hasn't been able to stop smiling since their first kiss less than eight hours ago.

Emma moves, rolling off of him and onto her side, her head propped up against a pillow. Without a second thought, Killian mimics her, reaching out to take hold of one of her hands as he does so. She studies their joined hands, a mild look of disbelief in her eyes that Killian tries not to be offended by (after all, he can hardly believe it himself).

"How long?" Emma asks suddenly.

"How long what, love?" Killian replies, but he knows exactly what she's asking. He sighs, scratching behind his ear, attempting to figure out how much to tell her without saying too much. This thing between them, while wondrous, is tentative, and he'd hate to ruin it before it really begins.

"Tell me," Emma says, her tone softening.

"Since high school."

* * *

"Since high school."

Emma's eyes widen, and she's pretty sure that if they were standing, Killian would be shuffling his feet in self-consciousness. She had had her suspicions back then, yes, but she had never actually known how Killian felt about her. _Feels_ about her.

"How come you never said anything?" Emma breathes. She has a feeling she already knows why, but she wants to hear it from Killian.

"Ah, well, when we met, you were just beginning your relationship with Neal. You looked at him with stars in your eyes - how was I to believe a mere biology nerd could ever compare?" He's refusing to look at her, the bitterness in his voice (directed towards himself, not her - never her) betraying him. Emma bites her lip, holding back her protests that he was never just a biology nerd to her, because now is not the time.

"And after?" she presses.

Killian shrugs. "The timing was never right. I wasn't going to take advantage of your break up with Neal, and then what with the debacle involving the crocodile and Milah…"

Emma hums in understanding. She had had the exact same reasoning when convincing herself to keep her feelings a secret. It's obvious what Killian wants to ask next, but he hesitates, ever respectful of Emma's desire to divulge information at her own discretion.

"I figured it out after Milah's accident," Emma says, watching Killian's reaction out of the corner of her eye. His eyebrows are halfway to his hairline and his mouth is gaping open, but she continues speaking. "To be honest, though, I think it's always been there. There was a spark when we met, and plenty of moments after, but I never let myself dwell on it. Didn't want to ruin our friendship I guess," she adds wryly, because of course it would be her own skittishness that got in the way of her happiness.

"It was worth the wait," Killian says, and Emma can't help but feel like he's read her mind.

"Definitely worth the wait," she agrees.

* * *

By some miracle, Killian and Emma actually manage to get some sleep, but that doesn't stop either of them from reaching for the coffee maker when they stumble downstairs just a little past ten o'clock.

"Morning sleepyheads," Mary Margaret says, her voice tinged with amusement as she takes in their bleary eyes and Killian's unruly hair. "David and I picked up some pastries this morning if you're interested."

"Is there a maple bar?" Emma asks hopefully, sliding into the seat across from Mary Margaret at the dining table and leaving Killian to make her coffee. (He always gets it just right.)

"I wouldn't dream of returning without one," Mary Margaret teases. "We all know how you get when you're hungry."

Emma rolls her eyes, snagging her precious maple bar from the box as Killian sets a cup of coffee in front of her. She tilts her head up to kiss him as thanks and catches herself just in time, suddenly all too aware of Mary Margaret's presence. Emma has to bite her tongue to keep from swearing, but sneaking kisses with Killian had become oddly normal overnight. While she knows Mary Margaret and David won't be anything but happy for them, she had told Killian that she wasn't quite ready to tell them, and that hadn't changed in the few hours that have passed since.

"Where's Dave run off to? Not having second thoughts, I hope," Killian says nonchalantly, effortlessly absolving the weird atmosphere Emma had created. He slings an arm around the back of her chair and Emma stiffens until she remembers that Mary Margaret won't think twice about their tendency to practically sit on top of one another. She lets out a breath she hadn't known she was holding and relaxes, leaning back into Killian's arm and biting into her donut, more than content to let Mary Margaret and Killian do all of the talking.

Mary Margaret pretends to be annoyed with Killian, but she's positively glowing with excitement and keeps sneaking glances at the delicate silver band adorning her finger. "He's helping his mom do some last minute errands before dinner tonight. Oh, I almost forgot! Happy Thanksgiving you two!"

Mary Margaret gets up in a flurry of motion and quickly dashes to the other side of the table to hug both of them tightly. Emma laughs and pats her friend's arm, angling her maple bar so as not to get any frosting on the brunette's sleeve while Killian squirms slightly. Mary Margaret is back in her seat in a flash, chattering away to Emma about ideas for the wedding, telling her about what she had settled on with Ruth, and _oh, don't worry, I promise I won't make you wear a horrible maid of honor dress!_

"Oh, I haven't even asked you properly yet! Emma, will you be my maid of honor?"

Emma grins, and this time it's her turn to get up and hug Mary Margaret. "Of _course_ I will."

Killian finishes his coffee and gets up, pausing only to stoop down and whisper something in Emma's ear before he ducks out the door.

* * *

"I thought I'd find you here."

Killian turns around to see Emma walking towards him on the dock, bundled up in a white turtleneck sweater and the replacement red leather jacket he had given her, as well as -

"Is that my hat?"

Emma smirks, reaching up to readjust the gray beanie on her head. "Maybe."

"Pirate," Killian scoffs.

"You know it," Emma says cheerfully, her eyes settling on the modest sailboat in front of her. "It's been a long time since we've taken her out on the water."

"Much too long," Killian adds, glad to see that his boat is much the same as the last time he'd been in Storybrooke. He had been hesitant about leaving the Jolly behind when he moved to Boston, but Mr. Smee has been living up to his word and taking care of her like she's his own.

"Fancy an ace trip onto the water, old chap?" Emma says, openly mocking Killian's accent with an imitation so awful that he has to laugh.

"Alas, I have a feeling that we're all about to be commissioned to help prepare the feast your mother undoubtedly has planned for tonight," Killian says, not having to fake the regret coloring his voice. Emma's arms come up so that she can link her hands behind his neck, his automatically resting on her waist as she sways into him.

"Then we'd better savor this moment while we can."

* * *

Emma Swan has never had much to be thankful for. Growing up, she had been tossed from foster family to foster family, and had learned early on to not let herself get too attached, because she never stayed in one place for long. When she was fifteen, Ruth and David Nolan had changed that.

They'd given her a family, for which she will be eternally grateful, but Emma credits Killian with reminding her everyday that she is _allowed_ to have something to be thankful for.

As if sensing that she's thinking about him, Killian looks up from the ridiculous amount of mashed potatoes he's piling onto his plate and locks eyes with her, tilting his head to the side in a silent question. Emma just smiles and shakes her head, her grin going from fond to amused as she sends a pointed look to the amount of food in front of him. Killian returns her smile with a cheeky grin of his own, but then David is leaning over to tell him something and Ruth is getting Emma's attention.

Emma lets herself look around the table, at Ruth and David and Mary Margaret, who are well and truly her family, and Killian, who's her best friend, and, well…

Who knows what else he is, but she's more than ready to find out.

* * *

 **Review?**


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: Let the attempted meddling begin...poor Mary Margaret._

 _I have a new fic idea in the works! As my first Captain Swan AU and full-length fic, You Can Hear it in the Silence means a lot to me - but, alas, it cannot last forever. This next one will be another AU, so look out for it!_

* * *

"So, I was thinking," Mary Margaret starts, having finally snagged coveted alone time with Emma, "David really wants to show me around Storybrooke, you know, all the old haunts from when you guys were in high school and the shops and such, and you and Killian should really come with us!"

Emma blinks in surprise, the words coming out of Mary Margaret in a rush that she has to take a minute to process. "I mean, yeah, if we wouldn't be intruding."

"Of course not! We'd love to have you!"

Normally, Emma would find such exaggerated enthusiasm from anyone pretty suspicious, but this is Mary Margaret, the soon-to-be fifth grade schoolteacher and the woman who builds birdhouses and knits in her downtime, so Emma lets it slide.

At least, until she mentions the brunette's idea to David while they're sitting on the porch swing on the back patio, and watches her adopted brother's expression go from amused to slightly exasperated.

"What?" Emma asks warily.

David opens his mouth to give her what will undoubtedly be a half-assed attempt at dismissing both his and Mary Margaret's behavior, but Emma raises an eyebrow at him in a way that eerily reminds him of their mother and he caves.

"She's sort of gotten it into her head that you and Killian belong together and that she's gonna be the one to make you realize it," David mutters, his eyes fixed on his shoes.

Luckily for Emma, she's already swallowed her mouthful of coffee, otherwise she's sure she'd be choking on it at David's admission. "She _what_?"

David winces. "Look, I'm sorry. I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how she gets when she thinks two people are true love."

Emma feels her face heat up at the mention of true love, as well as David's shrewd gaze boring into her skull not a moment later.

"Emma."

"David."

"Do you want to tell me something about Killian? Or rather, you and Killian?"

"Not particularly, no," Emma says, and technically, she isn't lying.

"Hm, well, I'm not saying that it has to be with Killian, but it's not a bad thing to open yourself up to the possibility of a happy ending, Emma. I know that with everything that happened with Neal and Walsh, you might be waiting for the next person to screw up, but you have to look for the good moments too," David says, screwing up his face when he talks about her ex-boyfriends in a way that never fails to make her laugh and standing up. "I just want to make sure that you know that you deserve to be happy."

Emma smiles and gets up so she can hook her arm through David's, leaning over to bump shoulders with him as she does. "You sure that's the only reason you asked if something's going on with me and Killian?" she teases.

David stares at her for a moment in overly-dramatized indignation. "Emma, are you implying that I'm interested in Killian? I'm about to be a married man."

Emma can't help but snort as David laughs and drags her back into the house.

* * *

Even though Emma knows that she's playing right into Mary Margaret's plan and giving her friend more opportunities to meddle, being back in Storybrooke has her feeling oddly nostalgic, and a walk down memory lane with her best friends and her soon-to-be sister-in-law doesn't sound so bad.

"It's nice to know I have the approval of the lovely Mary Margaret, at least," Killian remarks, tugging the beanie on Emma's head down to cover the tips of her ears. "I would have thought she'd be the most opposed, actually."

"And whose fault would that have been?" Emma asks, grinning up at him and sneaking a kiss.

Killian scoffs and shrugs on his black leather jacket, and Emma is extremely glad she's chosen to wear her tan one today, otherwise she's sure Mary Margaret would have commented on them wearing matching leather jackets (which they do, of course, but Mary Margaret doesn't need the extra fodder).

"I'll have you know, I have been called charming, delightful, _dashing_ -"

"Who in the world called you _dashing_?"

Killian gives her a cheeky grin and winks. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Emma rolls her eyes and grabs the front of his jacket, pulling him to her and making his grin widen. "Maybe I would," she says quietly, their noses brushing. Emma waits until Killian starts to lean in for another kiss before she pats him on the cheek and turns around, rushing down the stairs with a victorious smirk on her face.

"That wasn't very nice, love," Killian sighs into her neck, plucking the beanie from her head and effectively messing up her hair in revenge.

"You are a child," Emma complains, combing through her hair a few times with her hand and snatching her (his) beanie back.

They still act the same, picking on and teasing each other, but instead of using words to soften the blow, they can use kisses instead (they both prefer this way _much_ more).

* * *

Despite the fact that it's November and the cold front seems to have hit Storybrooke early, Emma and Killian head to the old-school ice cream parlour to meet up with Mary Margaret and David. It's a good first stop on Mary Margaret's tour of their hometown, especially considering how much time the three of them had spent there when they were teenagers.

"Wanna split a sundae?" Emma asks, walking into the shop when Killian insists on holding the door for her 'like a gentleman.'

"You know, darling, every time you say _split_ you really mean you'll set those puppy dog eyes on me until I admit defeat and let you have the whole thing to yourself."

"Like I said, wanna split?"

David turns around when he hears a snort, expecting the sound to have come from Emma and looking all too entertained when he realizes that this time, at least, it was Killian.

"I was just telling Mary Margaret about the woman who used to own this place."

"Oh, yeah, Ingrid. She was kind of weird," Emma recalls, wrinkling her nose. "I mean, she was sweet, but she was...how would you guys describe her?"

"Intense?" David offers.

"Sure, we'll go with that."

"Who owns it now?" Mary Margaret asks, her eyes scanning the expansive menu with unsuppressed glee.

"Oh, just David's original bromance," Emma says, grinning even as David's hand comes around to cover her mouth (for Mary Margaret's benefit or Killian's, they'll never really know).

"What-"

Mary Margaret's follow-up question is cut off when the man in question comes out from the back of the shop, a bag of ice slung over each shoulder. He stops whistling when he sees his latest customers, tossing the ice on the counter and beaming.

"David! Emma, Killian, hi!"

"Hi Kristoff," Emma says, the slightest touch of her tongue on his hand more than enough to get David to recoil away in disgust.

David and Kristoff go through the routine of shaking hands and pulling each other into a hug, slapping each other on the back to dispel any sense of unmanliness. They get their ice cream on the house, spending several hours in the ice cream parlor discussing Kristoff's upcoming wedding to Elsa's younger sister, Anna, and David and Mary Margaret's recent engagement, but Emma dodges any attempts to talk about _her_ love life, acting as though she doesn't notice the way Killian's ears go pink and his hand twitching in his lap. Oddly enough, it's Mary Margaret who comes to her rescue by asking how Kristoff came to run an ice cream shop of all things, and it's obvious by her expression that she was not expecting Kristoff to reply with _what can I say, I like ice._

Kristoff offers some more suggestions on what to show Mary Margaret during their short stay in Storybrooke, and they say their goodbyes (David's a touch more teary-eyed than the rest). At David's insistence and Killian's encouragement, the four of them wind up walking by their high school, the old brick of the three separate buildings unchanged over the years. It's a weekend, and Thanksgiving break at that, so they can't actually go in, but that doesn't deter them from pointing out the biology classroom where Emma set off the fire alarm ( _it was one time, Jesus, let it go_ ), the football field where David rose to notoriety ( _come on, I wasn't the_ star _\- we all played as a team!_ ), and the hallway where Emma had crashed into Killian on his very first day at Storybrooke High ( _the best day of my life_ ). Emma's pulse jumps at that, Killian's genuine smile a sharp contrast to his carefree comment and the brush of his hand against hers sending her heart racing, but David and Mary Margaret are too occupied in their own lovestruck haze to notice.

Emma lingers by the high school for the longest. She had never really expected to regret her relationship with Neal - while it had certainly ended horribly, she had learned a lot about herself, and they'd had plenty of good moments, but now that she's with Killian, she can't help but think that she wasted time with Neal when it could have been spent with the man standing beside her. The man who is _always_ standing beside her.

David and Mary Margaret have wandered to the football field, and Emma doesn't want to think about what they're doing over there for too long, but it gives Killian the opportunity to wrap his arms around his waist, his chin resting on her shoulder as the two of them hover outside the building where they first met.

"Do you ever think about how much time we wasted?" Emma asks quietly, one hand resting on Killian's arms across her stomach and the other going up to tangle itself in his hair.

Killian hums, pressing a kiss to Emma's jaw, and she just knows he's about to wax poetic and say something ridiculously sappy to distract her from the strange wistfulness that's settled over her.

"I never look back, darling. It distracts from the now."

Emma frowns, the words oddly familiar, and it takes a minute for her to realize where she's heard them before.

"Are you quoting _Edna Mode_ from _The Incredibles_?" she asks indignantly, but she's laughing because Killian has, of course, snapped her out of her regret without even trying.

Lost time doesn't matter when they've got the rest of their lives to make up for it.

* * *

When they get back, Ruth informs them that she's ordered pizza because she doesn't know about them, but she's starting to get a little tired of turkey and stuffing. Armed with mugs of hot chocolate and ten fluffy blankets between the five of them, they all go out onto the back patio to look at the stars.

"This is kind of your only option for entertainment when you live in a small town that more or less shuts down after nine o'clock," David explains, carefully constructing a blanket fort with pillows from the outdoor furniture for himself and Mary Margaret.

"Oh, you make it sound so terrible," Ruth teases from her chair. "If you're really bored, perhaps you can entertain us. As I recall, during your senior year of high school, you thought it'd be a good idea to start a band."

Mary Margaret's eyes go wide with delight - she's heard about David's "band" from Emma plenty of times, but David's never given in and demonstrated his so-called musical prowess. If anyone can get him to embarrass himself that badly, it's his mother.

"Yeah, but it was mostly a bunch of my friends playing air guitar and banging their heads really hard," David says, laughing. "Killian was the only one who could actually play anything close to music."

"I remember," Ruth says, her smile fond as she looks at Killian. "You always did have the most beautiful voice."

It's not like Killian to be modest, but at Ruth's compliment, his eyes go to the ground and his hand goes up to scratch behind his ear. Ruth excuses herself for a moment and reemerges from the house holding an old, obviously well-loved acoustic guitar in both hands. It takes a bit of convincing from everyone, but it's Emma's encouraging smile that leads to Killian accepting the guitar from the woman who has always been like a second mother to him.

"Ah, what should I play?"

"Preferably none of that heavy metal my son was so obsessed with during your band years," Ruth says to the further amusement of Mary Margaret.

"I promise, no heavy metal. I'll dedicate this one to the newly engaged couple," Killian says, wincing when he runs a thumb over the guitar strings and taking his time to tune it. Emma feels her eyes start to drift shut when he starts picking at chords, leaning back into the porch swing to give Killian more room, but they fly open when she recognizes the song he's chosen to play.

 _I'm gonna pick up the pieces_

 _And build a Lego house_

 _When things go wrong we can knock it down_

 _My three words have two meanings_

 _There's one thing on my mind, it's all for you_

Killian had learned the entire album for her, when Emma had discovered Ed Sheeran and promptly become obsessed with his music. It wasn't her usual taste, but her teenaged self had strongly resonated with the lyrics of his debut album, and Killian had, of course, indulged her. (It worked out for him that the musician's songs perfectly fit in his own vocal range, otherwise he's not sure Emma would have enjoyed listening to him play quite as much.)

 _And it's dark in a cold December, but I've got ya to keep me warm_

 _And if you're broken I'll mend ya_

 _And keep you sheltered from the storm that's raging on now_

 _I'm out of touch, I'm out of love_

 _I'll pick you up when you're getting down_

 _And out of all these things I've done I think I love you better now_

He had dedicated the song to David and Mary Margaret, but Emma knows it's really for her. She's not sure how she would have reacted if Killian had directly told her he loves her - because that's what he's doing now, with this song, she's certain - but she's not delusional, and it wouldn't have been pretty. This, though, with him singing one of her favorite songs that he'd learned to cheer her up when she was feeling down, is damn near perfect, and it doesn't send that jolt of fear to Emma's stomach.

Killian Jones loves her, is _in_ love with her, and for the first time, the thought of someone else loving (and possibly leaving) her isn't scary at all, because if there's one thing she knows, it's that Killian will never leave her willingly.

 _I'm out of sight, I'm out of mind_

 _I'll do it all for you in time_

 _And out of all these things I've done I think I love you better now_

* * *

 _A/N: Was the ending cheesy? Probably. Do I care? Definitely not. I'm an unashamed sap when it comes to these two._

 **Review?**


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: The first chapter of my Percy Jackson AU story is up! It's called 'High Tide' and features the gang as demigods. Give it a read and let me know what you think!_

* * *

Killian likes to serenade her.

Emma blames her mother, really. It was Ruth's fault that Killian had even had the chance to play the guitar, and now that they're back home in Boston, he _never stops singing_. (Not that she's actually complaining, because Killian has a beautiful voice, but, well, he can only sing to her so much before David and Mary Margaret finally catch on.)

"Do you not like my singing?" Killian asks, the hurt and indignation in his voice only half-forced.

Emma rolls her eyes and plucks the guitar out of his hands, carefully leaning it against a chair and snuggling up to Killian on the couch. "You know that's not it. But ever since we got back from Storybrooke, David and Mary Margaret have been watching our every move. I think they're starting to get suspicious."

"We _could_ tell them, you know," Killian says mildly, his eyes trained on Emma to gage her reaction.

It had been Emma's idea to keep their new relationship a secret from their friends. It's not that she doesn't want to tell them - she wants nothing more than to sit down and have some quality girl talk with Mary Margaret - but something is making her hesitate.

It has nothing to do with Killian, and she'd repeated that to him over and over again before he'd finally let out a defeated chuckle and covered her mouth with his hand to prevent her from going on. No, the problem is Emma.

If she doesn't let herself get her hopes up, she won't be disappointed when she, inevitably, makes it all go to hell.

"I'm merely teasing, sweetheart," Killian says quietly. "I'm in no hurry. I'm in this for the long haul."

Emma forces herself to take a deep breath and releases it somewhat shakily, putting a commendable effort into smiling at Killian. "I'll get there."

"I've yet to see you fail."

That's a lie and they both know it (looking at you, pre-calculus), but it's enough to get a real smile out of Emma and she relaxes against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

"What do you want to do today?" Emma asks, her eyes drifting shut.

"I was thinking," Killian says slowly, "that perhaps we ought to go on a real date."

Emma's eyes fly open.

"Not today," Killian adds quickly. "Not even this week if you're not ready. But soon, maybe?"

Emma sits up and looks at him then, watches as he fights the urge to duck his head and scratch behind his ear. For the first time, it occurs to her that Killian might be just as terrified of botching things as she is.

"I'd love that."

She tries to ignore the pang in her heart at how relieved and delighted he looks, like he hadn't actually believed that she'd say yes. She fails miserably.

"We should probably tell Mary Margaret and David before we go on a date, though," Emma says, swinging her legs around to lay across Killian's lap and settling back against him. "They'd both have a cow if we went out without telling them. Although that would be pretty funny to watch, I don't want to do that to them."

"Agreed. Should we tell them together, or should we divide and conquer?"

Emma can just imagine Mary Margaret's squeals of joy and a hint of righteousness at learning that she'd been right about them, or David's stern ' _if he hurts you I'll end him_ ' big brother speech that Emma would never take seriously considering how much he loves Killian, and decides that the two evils are equal.

"Together will probably be easier," Emma admits. The thought of telling their friends absolutely terrifies her, but she'll be damned if she lets herself get in the way of her own happiness this time.

Sure, she doesn't have the best track record when it comes to relationships, but that doesn't mean she isn't ready to try, so she makes a valiant effort to stamp out her lingering anxiety.

"We don't have to tell them today," Killian says, picking up one of Emma's curls and absently toying with it. "We can go on the date whenever you feel comfortable. I merely dislike having to hold myself back whenever their charming selves are present."

Emma takes one look at his expression of pure suffering and laughs. "They're not present right now."

Killian's eyes take on a mischievous glint as a slow smile spreads across his face. "No, I suppose they're not."

* * *

"I can't believe I lost the bet," Mary Margaret says, handing a ten dollar bill to David with a pout.

"Just be glad you didn't bet fifty bucks," David says cheekily, grinning as he slips the cash into his back pocket. "You continue to underestimate how well I know my sister and roommate."

Mary Margaret huffs and folds her arms across her chest. "It's not my fault I thought the best of them and hoped they'd figure it out when we were at your mother's."

David shrugs and wraps his girlfriend in a hug that she only pretends to protest. "They'll figure it out eventually, when they stop being so stubborn."

Mary Margaret tilts her chin up to give him a dry look, not bothering to use words to convey how idiotic she finds David's statement to be. Emma and Killian, stop being stubborn and admit their feelings? Not likely.

* * *

The following Tuesday after they get back from Storybrooke brings yet another taco night with the four of them. Killian has a study group, and won't be joining them until later, so Emma figures she might as well head over to his and David's apartment and help prep dinner. It's not as though she has anything better to do.

She doesn't bother to knock. Upon further reflection, Emma's pretty sure she's never knocked on their door once, but it's not as though either David or Killian had ever gifted her such a courtesy.

The key gets stuck in the lock and Emma wiggles it a bit, cursing her brother, boyfriend, and landlord all at once. She has to give the door an extra shove to open it and bursts into the living room, only to be met with the sight of David and Mary Margaret cuddled up on the couch under a blanket that does little to hide the fact that they are both naked.

"Oh my God." Emma's voice comes out as more of a squeak as she quickly claps her hand over her eyes and turns around. "Oh my God."

"Oh my God," David repeats, and Emma can hear the blanket moving in what is probably David's attempt to better cover himself.

"I think I'm blind," Emma groans.

"Emma! We were just - um, we were...resting?" Mary Margaret offers meekly, but she doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest.

"I'm not eleven, Mary Margaret, Jesus. I know what you were doing. I'm going - I'm going to make tacos," Emma says, muttering to herself as she continues to shield her eyes and heads to the kitchen. "No self control. On the couch. In broad daylight. Jesus." Her mind, ever the traitor, flashes back to what she had been doing with Killian just yesterday, but at least they hadn't had an _audience_.

She's scarred for life.

"It's nice to know I still have the ability to scar her for life," David murmurs to Mary Margaret, unknowingly echoing Emma's thoughts.

"I can _hear_ you," Emma yells from the safety of the kitchen. She purposefully keeps her back to the living room and begins to chop lettuce with more ferocity than is necessary and tackles the rest of the taco fixings with similar force. She's nearly done with all of the preparation by the time David and Mary Margaret join her, thankfully, this time, dressed.

"Sorry again, Emma," Mary Margaret says sheepishly, not missing the way Emma avoids all eye contact. "We weren't expecting you for another hour."

"No, no, my mistake. Should have knocked. It's perfectly reasonable to assume that my best friend and my brother would be having sex on the living room couch in the middle of the day - _not_. Dammit, I can never sit on that couch again," Emma realizes, scowling. "I'm gonna have to warn Killian."

"Oh, please," David scoffs. "As if he's never hooked up with anyone on that couch."

Mary Margaret's exclamation of disgust manages to cover up the flush in Emma's cheeks. She hadn't thought about Killian's less than pristine past with other women for a long time, and while his string of one night stands had only ever gotten an eye roll out of Emma, she'd rather not dwell on them now that Killian is more than her womanizing best friend from high school.

David sends Emma a sharp glance, but the presence of a ten dollar bill in his back pocket is her unwitting saving grace. He'll save the conversation for later, when Mary Margaret isn't around to celebrate her victory.

The three of them eat their tacos in awkward silence, Emma never looking up from her plate until the uncomfortable atmosphere is broken by Killian's arrival.

"Oh thank God," Emma breaths, putting her head down on the table as Killian drops his backpack off by the door and stares at them in confusion.

"As thrilled as I am to finally get the appreciation I deserve, what's going on here?" Killian asks slowly, coming over to stand behind Emma. His hands automatically go to her shoulders, massaging them until some of the tension dissolves and she finally lifts her head.

"I walked in on them having sex," Emma complains, turning to bury her face against Killian's stomach. "It was disgusting."

"Hey!" Mary Margaret protests.

"It wasn't disgusting from my end," David says smugly, high fiving Mary Margaret from their side of the table.

"Oh, for the love of - "

Killian snickers as Emma decides to ignore the Charmings altogether and puts together his tacos. At Emma's pitiful look he pats her head sympathetically, but when her attention is no longer on him he gives David an approving thumbs up.

"Don't encourage them," Emma scolds, swatting at Killian without looking. "They're bad enough as it is."

Killian snorts. "Please. As if we're any better."

Emma freezes and stares at Killian, whose mouth is gaping open at his slip-up. They avert their eyes at the same time, Emma draining the water from the glass in front of her and Killian taking a larger-than-usual bite of his first taco. _Please don't let them notice, please don't let them notice…_

"I knew it!" Mary Margaret shrieks, jumping up from her chair in excitement and clapping her hands in delight.

Shit.

"When did this happen?" Mary Margaret asks. David tugs her hand in order to get her to sit back down but she continues to bounce up and down in pure glee.

 _Only Mary Margaret_ , Emma thinks wryly.

"Ah, when…" Killian trails off, eyes on Emma and more than ready to take her cue. Her anxiety had steadily climbed in the short moment of silence between Killian's admission and Mary Margaret's exclamation, but it seems to have reached its peak, at least. She shrugs and feels Killian's arm settle on the back of her chair.

Emma takes a deep breath, Killian gently tugging on a curl in silent support. She shoots him a grateful, albeit shaky, smile as thanks. This isn't how she would have wanted to tell David and Mary Margaret, but maybe ripping the band-aid off is the better way to go.

"It happened when you guys got engaged," Emma admits, and promptly cringes at Mary Margaret's second happy squeal.

"How? What made you realize it? Oh, I'm so happy you two finally came around!"

Emma looks at Killian pleadingly and, ever her knight in shining armor, he swoops in to deflect all of Mary Margaret's questions.

"Let's just leave it at Emma finally came around and was wooed by my many charms," Killian says with a winning smile. Mary Margaret, however, is used to said charms and is no longer fazed by them, but she seems to get the hint and drops the subject.

For now.

Emma's more than certain that she'll be barraged with the exact same questions when Mary Margaret manages to corner her at a later date, and decides to avoid hanging out with her friend one on one for as long as possible. Preferably until David convinces Mary Margaret to get off of Emma's back about her relationship with Killian. (Which may as well be never.)

"Killian, I think you and I need to talk."

Emma can't contain her snort at that, even as David does his best to try and look intimidating. Mary Margaret hides her own chuckle behind a delicate cough, and Killian makes a valiant effort to look a little bit apprehensive. Still, they all know this big brother talk is a total joke, and once Killian allows David to drag him up to the roof of their apartment complex, Emma and Mary Margaret can no longer stifle their laughter.

* * *

Despite the dread in Emma's stomach at facing an interrogation by Mary Margaret, she wants to find something new to wear on her date with Killian, and her friend really does have remarkable taste in clothes, so Emma finds herself shopping with Mary Margaret a few days after the taco incident.

Emma eyes a couple of the options Mary Margaret is holding up in front of her, both dark, one leather, and sighs. While they would both normally be her taste, she wants to try something different, she just doesn't know what.

"Maybe if we had a vague idea," Mary Margaret suggests, returning the rejects to the rack. "What about a color?"

"I don't know," Emma says, sighing. "I've never felt this indecisive about clothes before. I don't know why it's happening now. I mean, Killian's seen me all gross and snotty in sweats and one of his ratty old t-shirts. It's not like he cares what I look like."

"Yeah, but it's the start of something new," Mary Margaret says, smiling. "A new chapter in both of your lives. It's not a bad thing to want to try dressing differently too."

Emma rolls her eyes at the cheesiness Mary Margaret is spewing out but there's a smile on her face too as she sifts through a rack of dresses. One in particular catches her attention, but while Mary Margaret had said there wasn't anything wrong with changing her style, this might be a stretch.

"Oh, Emma, that's gorgeous," Mary Margaret breathes when her gaze lands on the soft pink dress. "It's perfect."

Emma is a little more hesitant to agree, because the dress is certainly pretty, but it's not her usual taste. Still, it reminds her of a dress she had in high school, a flowy sundress that Neal had scoffed at and said she wasn't girly enough to look right in it, and she distinctly remembers Killian pulling her aside and telling her that she would look lovely in anything, but she looked especially lovely in that particular dress.

Emma's face is lit up in a smile when she walks up to the cash register, one that's simultaneously delighted and smug. She's managed to find the perfect dress for her first date with Killian, perfect because she loves it, and, well, she can only imagine his expression when he sees her in it.

"You're gonna knock him dead," Mary Margaret says conspiratorily from behind Emma, the blonde's cheeky grin confirming that she is quite aware of that fact.

"That's the plan."

* * *

 **As always, review?**


	24. Chapter 24

Emma is in the middle of the great lip gloss versus lipstick debate when she hears a knock on the door. She figures it's a Girl Scout or something - is it the season for that? - and is wondering if she should buy Thin Mints or Tagalongs as she stumbles across her living room attempting to put on her heels.

"You guys couldn't get the door?" The question is directed toward Mary Margaret and David, who have taken up residence on her couch (the memory of witnessing them on David's couch still makes her cringe) as her surrogate parents of the evening. Mary Margaret is clutching a vintage polaroid camera to her chest and beaming and David is the exact opposite, arms folded and a scowl permanently set on his face as Emma rushes about getting ready for her date with Killian. "If you have to be here, you could make yourselves useful."

The flash from Mary Margaret's camera goes off, making Emma's eyes water and almost ruining her carefully applied makeup, although a voice in Emma's head that sounds suspiciously like the brunette in front of her reminds her that Killian would love her with a paper bag over her face.

"You look so beautiful!" Mary Margaret exclaims, grinning as she lowers the camera and Emma shoots David a pained look.

Emma smiles in acknowledgment of her friend's compliment but refuses to engage the woman in conversation, and opens the door to reveal not a Girl Scout, but Killian.

Emma's mouth goes dry at the sight of him. She's seen him in varying degrees of formal wear (prom, mock trial, and interviews come to mind) and she's admitted to herself that Killian Jones is indeed very attractive more times than she'd care to count, but something about seeing him in leather gets to her every time.

If Emma has chosen to go lighter for this date, Killian has definitely decided to walk on the dark side. His infamous black leather jacket is paired with a black shirt that he obviously decided wasn't worth buttoning up all the way, and Emma can tell without him turning around that he's chosen the black jeans that hug his ass perfectly. From the way Killian runs his tongue along his mouth and raises an eyebrow, he knows exactly what effect he's having on her.

"Since when do you knock?" Emma blurts out, trying to distract Killian - and Mary Margaret and David, who are watching with different kinds of interest - from the flush in her cheeks.

"A gentleman always picks the lady up on the first date, and I don't believe that warrants barging into her flat like a barbarian," Killian says, handing Emma a single red rose. She manages to stutter through a quiet _thank you_ , her foot rising of its own accord at the earnestness in Killian's wide blue eyes, and she sets her foot down with an audible click of the heel of her shoe on the floor.

Another burst of white light fills the room and Emma groans.

"What the bloody - Dave, Mary Margaret. I can't say I expected to see you two here," Killian says, forcing something akin to enthusiasm into his voice.

Emma sighs and tugs him down so that her mouth is close to her ear. "I've been stuck with them for the past two hours. It's only fair that you get to feel my pain."

David pointedly clears his throat and the look Killian sends him is entirely too amused, which is all the warning Emma needs before Killian is kissing her.

"Really? Is that necessary?" David complains, averting his eyes and choosing to stare at the ceiling instead.

"I think it's sweet," Mary Margaret says, even as she snaps another picture of the two of them.

"Consider this payback for _tacos_ ," Emma teases as Killian breaks the kiss, his arms still around her as she glances over her shoulder to bask in the second-hand embarrassment she's managed to bestow upon her brother. "I suggest not being here when we get back lest I scar _you_ for life as payback."

David's look of horror is exactly what Emma had been aiming for and her laugh rings through the apartment as Killian grabs her hand and tugs her out the door.

* * *

"Mary Margaret was right about one thing, Swan. You look beautiful," Killian says, pulling out her chair for her when they get to the restaurant. He brushes a kiss to her cheek after she sits down, and when Emma turns to look at him through her lashes, her breath catches in her throat at the sheer adoration in his eyes. All it takes is a look from Killian to make Emma feel more than wanted; he's never had to use words to make her feel special, like she's something precious to be treasured.

"You don't look so bad yourself," Emma replies, clearing her throat as Killian settles into the seat across from her. The waiter comes by, asking if they'd like to look at the wine menu, but Emma declines. She had needed the buzz of alcohol to get through dates with the less savory of her suitors, but she wants a clear head tonight.

"What, afraid that with a few libations, you'll be unable to resist me?" Killian teases, fingers tapping at his mouth as he rests his chin in his hand.

Emma rolls her eyes. This man is ridiculous - they've already proved that they are seemingly incapable of resisting each other multiple times already.

"You are a dork," Emma reminds him, her fond smile betraying her. Killian grins back, looking oddly reminiscent of a kid in a candy shop even as his gaze drops down, just as she had predicted it would. The pink dress, while soft and flowy and demure, also features a neckline made into a deep v, and Emma had told Mary Margaret it would be extremely amusing to watch Killian struggle to keep his eyes on her face.

As if sensing that he's a source of entertainment for her in this moment, Killian's eyes snap up to meet hers, the brilliant blue darkened by something else in the dim light of the restaurant. Emma smirks, because while she can't wait until they're in the privacy of her apartment either, she also wants to drag this game out as long as she can. It's not everyday she gets the chance to make Killian Jones, charmer extraordinaire, squirm.

"Aye, I may be a dork, but I'm your dork," Killian says finally, now looking rather determinedly at Emma's face and refusing to let his gaze drift anywhere below her chin.

Emma blushes at the lack of hesitation in his admission, busying herself with unfolding her napkin and laying it across her lap. She's come far in her paranoia about relationships and letting someone else have a piece of her, but the way Killian can say that he is wholly, unequivocally hers in casual conversation still baffles her.

The waiter comes back to take their order, his posture stiff as he lists the specials. Killian snorts at his pretentious demeanor, unfazed even when Emma kicks him from under the table.

"What an arse," Killian comments as soon as the waiter is out of earshot.

Emma full-heartedly agrees, but she's not about to tell Killian that. "You are the one who wore a biker jacket to a fancy restaurant," she sings, swinging her ponytail over her shoulder so that she can play with a lock of her hair. It's a decidedly flirtatious movement, one that Killian doesn't miss, from the way his head tilts to the side in interest.

"I can hardly regret it when I know it makes me look irresistible," Killian retorts, his grin cheeky as he slides his elbow forward to lean closer to Emma. The waggle of his eyebrows mixed with the heat in his eyes is meant to be obscene, she's sure, but mostly she thinks he looks ridiculous.

They make fun of the waiter for the rest of the night, mocking his pompous mannerisms and disdainful facial expressions whenever Killian says something particularly snarky. Emma bats her eyes a few times, all innocence and decorum whenever she speaks to the snooty server, and laughs at Killian's indignation when she gets more attentive service.

"I cannot believe you are flirting with another man while on a date with me," Killian sniffs, eyes bright with mischief as Emma dimples at him.

"Are you worried about something?" Emma reaches over to take Killian's hand, mustering as much solemnity as she can for her next few words. "You should know I prefer men who have British accents and take a ridiculously long time to get ready."

"I do not take a long time getting ready!"

Emma presses her lips together in an attempt to hold back her laughter, but then Killian is pouting and she can't contain it any longer.

He really is adorable.

Killian insists on picking up the check, and Emma lets him, because he's always going on about being a gentleman and practicing good form and she knows he believes he should pay on the first date. He opens the door for her as they exit the restaurant, and again when they get to the car, and she feels a certain sense of satisfaction watching his face grow scarlet when she nonchalantly mentions that she hopes he's not planning to be a gentleman the entire night. He recovers quickly, if not completely, and assures her that he does not plan to disappoint.

He doesn't.

* * *

It doesn't take Emma long to get used to waking up with Killian in her bed. It sent a wave of panic through her the first few times, panic that slowly dissolved with every kiss Killian pressed to her skin, the morning kisses a habit that he's kept even as her dread has faded away. It's back to lazy Saturday mornings for her, something Emma has missed more than she let on. Killian still has a tendency to wake up with the sun, but he's perfectly content to lounge in bed as long as Emma is wrapped in his arms.

This Saturday, they're lazing about particularly late into the day. Emma rolls over so that her cheek is pressed to Killian's chest, humming quietly as she tries to summon the willpower to get out of bed. Killian is no help, protesting every time she moves so much as an inch, trailing a path of kisses down her neck in an attempt to convince her to waste the day away with him.

"I need food." Emma laughs at how despondent Killian looks, most likely cursing the need for anything as mundane as sustenance. "I'll make pancakes," she offers, his face brightening considerably as he inquires about the presence of blueberries in his. She smirks and indulges him in a quick kiss that turns into five before finally succeeding in peeling herself off of him.

Emma hunts down one of Killian's shirts - her clothes seem to have mysteriously disappeared overnight - and slips it on, and, all too aware of Killian watching her, puts a little extra sway in her hips as she leaves the room. There's the unmistakable sound of him groaning and falling back against her mattress, and then the thunk of a pillow hitting the wall when she tells him that she'll graciously give him a few more minutes to make himself presentable.

She sings as she mixes the batter for the pancakes, a Maroon 5 song that she's sure is only stuck in her head because of Killian. She's mid-flip when Killian sneaks up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him.

"I'm making breakfast," Emma protests, even as she angles her head to kiss his jaw.

"And breakfast smells delicious," Killian says, and they both know he's not talking about the pancakes.

Emma moves the pan to a different burner - she wants to indulge in Killian but she also wants to indulge in the pancakes, because what can she say, she's greedy - and turns around, looping her arms behind Killian's neck and pressing her body against his. He's elected to at least put his boxers and pajama pants back on today - God knows he's gotten into a bad habit of walking around her apartment fully, unabashedly nude - but the thin fabric does little to hide just how much he wants her in this moment. She has to reach up on her toes a bit to kiss him, but Killian is more than happy to assist, lifting her off the ground and moving so that her back is pressed against the kitchen counter.

In one quick movement, Emma jumps up and wraps her legs around Killian's waist, relishing in the low groan the change in position elicits from him. He mutters _minx_ against her throat, nipping at her ear, and Emma's about to suggest they go back to her room when the door opens.

"Oh my God!"

That's starting to sound familiar.

"Mary Margaret! Hi!" Emma says, letting her feet fall to the ground and self-consciously tugging down the shirt she stole from Killian. "We were just making pancakes."

"Oh…" Mary Margaret says quietly, sounding a little dazed. "I was just coming over to talk to you about some wedding details, but I can come back when you're done making...pancakes."

Killian sighs, anticipating Emma's next words before they're out of her mouth and recognizing that they're not going to finish what they started with Mary Margaret's interruption. He tells Mary Margaret it's lovely to see her, that he'll get out of their hair, and that he's going to take a very long shower.

"That's way more information than I needed," Mary Margaret mutters, but she's all sunshine and the happy bride-to-be as she pulls an overstuffed binder out of her bag.

Emma manages to stall by offering Mary Margaret pancakes, trying to ignore her friend's obvious surprise that there had been actual cooking happening in Emma Swan's kitchen instead of just 'canoodling,' as she so adorably put it. Emma plops a stack of pancakes on a paper plate, handing them to Killian when he comes out of the shower and rather forcibly instructing him to share with David. He smiles and departs with a _yes, dear_ and a kiss to her cheek, but they both know he's going to keep all the pancakes to himself.

"You two are so cute," Mary Margaret sighs, and Emma doesn't bother to deny it, because she happens to agree.

When Mary Margaret gushes and exclaims over wedding dresses, noting which ones she likes the best (all of them, she likes all of them), Emma matches her enthusiasm, especially over a vintage lace dress that Mary Margaret teasingly says would look great on the now blushing blonde.

* * *

 _A/N: I loved the scene in OUAT a little too much when David and Mary Margaret are over-enthusiastic/protective parents during Emma's first date with Killian, and wanted to include as much as I could without going overboard. Killian is David's roommate, after all, and they've been friends since high school, so he's not gonna be as hesitant about their new relationship as he was in the show. Hope this chapter lived up to your guys' expectations!_

 **Review?**


	25. Chapter 25

The first time Emma drops lunch off for Killian on one of the Fridays he's at his internship, his smile to see her (and food) is so delighted that she can't help but beam back at him. He convinces her to stay and eat with him, and she makes a show of protesting, but how can she resist when he starts pouting?

It becomes a weekly thing without them having to discuss it. Emma's job isn't regular by any means, but she does have a work schedule, which blissfully gives her Fridays off, even if she's usually stuck in her apartment and bored out of her mind. She's more than happy for the reprieve visiting Killian gives her, but she always feels awkward walking past the cubicles and offices of other people at work, and the click of the heels on the boots she's chosen to wear today is more conspicuous than she'd like. It's worth it, though, when Killian catches sight of her and a grin spreads across his face.

"You're a sight for sore eyes." Killian barely waits for her to set the bag from Granny's down on his desk before he's pulling her down for a kiss. She had been acutely aware of the public display of affection the first few times, but she's come to realize that no one around them is paying enough attention to care.

"Busy today?" Emma asks, sitting down in the chair she knows Killian keeps around for her. She's pretty confident that she nabs a fry from Killian's side with enough stealth that he won't catch her, until he steals an onion ring in retaliation and chastises her for stealing.

"Busy enough. Regina's got me working on a criminal case, and she says it's best for me to be trained in all fields, but it's not my taste," Killian says around a mouthful of food. Emma wrinkles her nose, but his lunch break isn't long, so they've had to learn how to be efficient.

"We haven't seen her in a while," Emma observes, glancing around in hopes of spotting Regina. "Mary Margaret's worried she's offended her or something with all her talk about the wedding. She'd probably want me to check in and see if Regina's gonna make it to game night tonight."

Killian raises his eyebrows, shifting in his chair as he finishes his burger. "I'm sure she has a perfectly good explanation as to why she hasn't been at the apartment lately." His nonchalant tone may have been able to fool Mary Margaret, and even David, but Emma hones in on it right away.

"What do you know?" Emma presses, eyes narrowing as Killian continues to squirm. Try as he might to 'maintain a certain sense of intrigue' (his words, not hers), she can always see right through him. Not counting the years she spent oblivious to the fact that he's in love with her. (She doesn't like to acknowledge how long it took her to figure it out.)

"What are you willing to do to find out?" Killian's smirk is devious at best and downright sinful at worst, and Emma feels herself blushing against her will.

"I brought you lunch, Jones. Talk." The command is clear, and at the stubborn set to Emma's jaw, Killian sighs.

"I suppose client confidentiality doesn't apply in this particular scenario. If you must know, darling Swan, I'd say Regina has a suitor."

"Really," Emma breathes. She's seen Regina with her son enough times to know that the woman isn't the ice queen she portrays herself as, but it's still difficult for her to imagine Regina cuddling up to anyone other than Henry. "Any idea who?"

Killian grins and pointedly lets his gaze drift to Regina's office. "Aye. I'd say it's the man whose custody case she handed off to a colleague in order to avoid a conflict of interest."

Emma follows Killian's cue and blesses whoever decided to install clear glass walls for all of the offices, because she's given a good look at the profile of Regina's mystery man and the lion tattoo on his forearm.

"Good for Regina," Emma remarks, and her eyes must linger for a little longer than is appropriate because when she turns back around to face Killian, he's looking at her reproachfully.

"I'm sitting right here, Swan. It's bad form to stare at another man in your boyfriend's presence."

"I'm _so_ sorry," Emma says, her tone not apologetic in the slightest. "Whatever can I do to make it up to you?"

It's a testament to his acting ability and a peek into his future as an attorney when Killian gives her an innocent smile, despite the mischief in his eyes. "I'm sure we can work something out."

* * *

Regina doesn't bring her new love interest to game night that week, but after Emma _accidentally_ lets slip to Mary Margaret that Regina is seeing someone, the brunette eagerly asks the older woman so many questions that she eventually acquiesces to bringing Robin Locksley around the following Friday, and pretends to ignore the way the four twenty something year olds high five each other.

"You're all children," Regina mutters, but she walks into David and Killian's apartment with Robin in tow the next week anyways.

Killian and Robin are thick as thieves before they've finished a full round of Cards Against Humanity, their go-to game when they're trying to get to know someone new. Despite being nearly ten years older, Robin's sense of humor is identical to Killian's and the two get along abnormally well, and Emma doesn't know who's more appalled by this development - Regina or David.

Emma's charmed by Robin's rough-around-the-edges easily enough, but Mary Margaret and David are a harder crowd to please. That doesn't stop Mary Margaret and Emma from laughing at how apprehensive David seems to be at the thought of losing his best friend to another man.

It's not until Robin pulls out his phone and shows them pictures of his four year old son, Roland, that Mary Margaret starts to thaw, dragging Regina to the side in an attempt to be covert and telling her that she's happy for her in hushed tones. Emma stifles a snort even as Robin turns a bright shade of red, hiding her amusement by burying her face in Killian's shoulder.

"Sorry, man. You'll learn that Mary Margaret's not very good at being discreet," David says, grinning as he claps Robin on the back.

"Or keeping secrets," Emma adds. "If you ever tell her anything, expect it to be shared with either me or David, or both of us."

David gapes at Emma. "Does that mean you _know_ that she shares all the details about your relationship with Killian with me?" Emma merely offers him an innocent smile in response, and watches as his already exaggerated horror grows. "And you kept telling her about your sex life anyways? How could you do that to me?"

Emma gets up to put her coffee mug in the sink, patting David on the cheek as she goes. "Consider it my revenge for taco night."

"That was weeks ago!"

"If I never think about it again, it'll be too soon."

"I'd be happy to enact revenge for you for that particular instance, love," Killian pipes up, grinning first at Emma and then at David, who shudders at just the thought of his roommate talking to him about sleeping with his adoptive sister.

"Do me a favor and spare me."

* * *

Between her job, and his class and internship schedule, Emma and Killian's idea of a date night turns into him sitting on the floor doing his readings for the week and her laying down on the couch playing with his hair. Killian apologizes profusely every time, with promises that once he's on holiday, he's all hers, but Emma doesn't care in the slightest. She likes going out well enough, but this quiet kind of domesticity is all she really wants.

"Still, I am sorry, love," Killian says, running a hand through the hair Emma has been working to flatten for the past twenty minutes.

"For the last time, Killian, I'll take any excuse I can to not wear heels." Killian snorts and Emma takes that as an opportunity to get him to take a break from studying, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck and leaning forward to rest her chin on his shoulder. "School's important. It'll be worth it when you're a hotshot lawyer."

"It's just such a bloody time commitment," Killian groans, taking one of Emma's hands and pressing a kiss to her palm. "I could be doing much more enjoyable things on a Saturday night."

Emma doesn't take the bait, ignoring the innuendo in Killian's tone and kissing him on the cheek. "I'll make coffee."

Her latte art has improved over the past few weeks. She knows it, David knows it, and even Killian knows it, but that doesn't stop him from asking her what the blob in his coffee is. Her only response is to flick him on the forehead and tell him to get back to work.

Despite the caffeine boost, Emma finds herself drifting off to sleep to the sound of Killian muttering about law theory, because while she usually thinks his accent makes even the most mundane words sound interesting, she woke up early and doesn't have the mental capacity to try and follow along at ten at night. She's distantly aware of Killian chuckling to himself when he notices she's falling asleep, but he doesn't move her to her bed - not for lack of effort, of course, but he's heard Emma mumble that she wants to keep him company enough that he lets her be.

Killian doesn't finish reading until three hours later, tempted to move himself and Emma to a proper mattress more than once. At one in the morning, he shuts his textbook and decides to indulge in the luxury of sleep.

"Come on, sweetheart, off to bed." Emma's hand smacks him in the face a couple times with no real force, and he has to keep himself from laughing. While Mary Margaret is ferociously grumpy when woken up, Emma is casually violent, and that's decidedly worse.

"Don't wanna move," Emma mumbles, her face buried in the couch cushion in a way that has Killian wondering how she's breathing.

A sleeping Emma is pure deadweight, all flopping limbs and a heavy head, and Killian struggles to scoop her up the way the dashing prince does in every fairy tale movie they've ever watched. He's not sure how they make it look so bloody easy when the princess is sound asleep, and mutters to himself about unrealistic portrayal in the media as he carries Emma to her bedroom.

"Why are you mumbling about Prince Charming?" Emma asks, her voice quiet and sleepy and more than worth the minutes he spent awkwardly trying to figure out how to pick her up from the couch without disturbing her slumber.

"I just have a newfound resentment of him, is all." Emma opens her eyes long enough to give him a puzzled look, and he manipulates his expression into the picture of innocence as he carefully sets her down on her bed. He ignores the way she rolls her eyes, tossing her his faded _Storybrooke Knights_ t-shirt and deciding to wear pajama bottoms to bed, at least, lest they have unannounced visitors _again_ and he risk ruining his friendship with Mary Margaret.

There's panic clawing at his throat when Killian gets a text from a classmate, warning him that their professor hinted at a practice exam in an email he received. He's always been a good student, worked hard to get top marks, but he's never been able to get over the anxiety that comes before every test. In high school, Emma had distracted him by dragging him out of the house and taking him to get ice cream, which isn't necessarily a tactic that works late at night in Boston.

Emma is happily snuggling into her pillow, tucked into bed wearing his shirt, when he presses a quick kiss to her forehead and ducks back into the living room for more studying. He thinks he's gotten off scotch free until she comes stumbling out of her room, yawning as she leans her hip against the door frame and stares at him.

"Killian? Come to bed."

"I'd love to, Swan, but there's a rumored exam this week." He tries to say it casually, but his knee is bouncing up and down controllably and he knows his hair is a mess.

Emma's curious gaze disappears as she crosses the room to sit next to him on the couch, softening as Killian reaches for his notebook and flips through it until he finds the page he's looking for. She's learned from experience not to interfere once he's dived into the void of test-induced anxiety and nudges him forward so she can sit behind him, curling herself around him and resting her cheek against his back, her legs wrapped around his hips. The amount of tension that eases out of Killian is miniscule at best, but Emma will take what she can get, squeezing him tight for a moment before relaxing her grip on him. She knows that for Killian, ever the snuggler ( _isn't there a more masculine version of that particular endearment, Swan?_ ), constant physical affection is the most effective way to get him to overcome his anxiety.

"Have you turned into a koala without my noticing?" Killian asks, never looking up from the text in front of him.

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Sorry to keep you awake, sweetheart. You should go to bed; one of us should get some sleep." He's all too aware that prompting Emma to leave his side is a lost cause, but making a bit of an effort helps alleviate a little of his guilt.

Killian can feel Emma shaking her head - at least, he thinks that's what she's doing, although her cheek never leaves his back. "I'm good here."

He manages to abandon his notes for a second to twist himself around to kiss the sleepy woman behind him, her small smile helping to ease the twist of anxiety in his stomach until he's satisfied that he's prepared for any upcoming exam (with an additional day to quiz himself on the material, of course).

"You're a nerd," Emma whispers when he finally slides into bed next to her, tucking her into his chest with a content sigh of his own.

"Mm, you can poke fun at me all you want once we've both gotten a night's rest."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

* * *

 _A/N: This chapter is pure fluff; expect pretty much the same thing until the story wraps up. I think these two deserve it. First official chapter of my Captain Swan Percy Jackson AU is up, introducing Killian to the mix. Do me a favor and check it out!_

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